


Stairway to Heaven

by BrielleSPN



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bottom Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, First Blade, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Powers, M/M, Making Love, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker, My First Destiel Fanfic, My First Fanfic, OFC - Freeform, Snarky Castiel, Top Castiel, Violent Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrielleSPN/pseuds/BrielleSPN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>    Dean paced the room restlessly, looking over at Castiel with every pass. Damn! Why did he have to look so… content? It was the first time in forever that he could remember the Angel – <em>former </em>Angel – he reminded himself; looking so relaxed. He looked… <em>Good</em>. Dean shook his head, ran his fingers through his dark hair, and started humming ‘Stairway to Heaven’ without quite knowing why; steeling himself for what he had to do.</p><p>* </p><p>Dean has been forced to tell Castiel to leave the Men of Letters bunker, because Ezekiel (who has possessed Sam) has threatened to leave Sam’s body to die if Cas doesn’t go.</p><p>Dean didn't expect it to be quite this hard. Nor did he expect that what happened afterwards would change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

    “Castiel cannot stay here.” said Ezekiel-Sam, “His presence here puts me in danger, thus your brother is in danger. You must ask him to leave.”  
    “C’mon man,” Dean protested, “he needs us, he’s got nowhere else to go. He was livin' on the streets for Christ’s sake!” He glanced over at Cas sitting happily at the bunker table. He looked better after food and a shower. _Much_ better…  Dean shook his head. “He’s like family,” he added.  
    “But Sam _is_ your family,” Ezekiel maintained. “Your younger brother. And he will die without me.”  
    “You’re a real bastard Zeke,” Dean muttered, “And you sound like a bad Meatloaf song.”  
     “I do not understand that reference Dean.” Ezekiel said, unwittingly echoing one of Cas' common phrases. “But I do know Castiel must leave… Or I will. Chose, Dean Winchester. You called for help. I am here. I can continue to heal Sam from the inside until he is fully well, but only if I am not revealed. Choose wisely. You will not be made this offer again.”  
    “Some choice,” Dean snapped.  
    “What?” Sam asked, blinking.  
Ezekiel was gone.

    “Nothin' Sammy, just… nothin'.” Dean moved away, “Why don’t you get some rest.”  
    “I feel great Dean, really. To be honest man I haven’t felt this good for a long time.”  
    “That’s awesome dude.” Dean turned to study his brother, “Really. But I think you should take it easy y’know? Just in case.”  
    Sam laughed, “Alright man. Don't get soppy on me, I’ll take a nanna nap; I'm kinda wrecked after my run anyway. That make you happy?” Sam grinned and ambled off toward his room.  
    “I dunno how you manage to run anywhere with those bloody great hoofs,” Dean chuckled. “And no porn!” he yelled after his departing brother.  
    “Hey you’re the porn Queen dude, not me!” Sam shot over his shoulder with a grin.  
    “And you’re the yoga Princess!”  
    “Jerk!”  
    “Bitch!”  
    Dean smiled. Yeah, his brother was going to be fine.

That just left Cas.

    Dean paced the room restlessly, looking over at Castiel with every pass. Damn! Why did he have to look so… content? It was the first time in forever that he could remember the Angel – _former_ Angel – he reminded himself; looking so relaxed. He looked… _Good_. Dean shook his head, ran his fingers through his dark hair, and started humming ‘Stairway to Heaven’ without quite knowing why; steeling himself for what he had to do.

    “Cas, we need to talk.” Dean sat down at the table next to his friend.  
    Castiel looked up from the enochian text he was translating. “Yes. Good. Because I wanted to thank you. For allowing me to come here, I mean. I feel… Safe.” He turned to the older Winchester, trust written all over his face. ”And I can be a help to you Dean,” he insisted earnestly, staring into Dean’s troubled green gaze. “I can do research, and bring you and Sam supplies. I can learn to cook. I would like that,” he mused. “I will make you pie!” he exclaimed happily. His blue eyes sparkled with purpose, “Just because I am human now does not mean I cannot be useful. I will not be a burden to you Dean,” he swore.  
    Dean stared helplessly at his friend and thought; _You could never be a burden Cas. Not to me._ Damn Ezekiel! Why did he have to do this?  
    “You and Sam will be good teachers I think,” Cas continued thoughtfully, “on how to be human. I mean sex is, was, interesting. I think I understand now Dean, why you search it out. It is… intimate. Almost on a celestial level,” he gazed into Dean’s eyes, “what I do not understand is how you do it without feelings getting… involved, overrun…” he struggled with the words. “I do not know the correct expression…”  
    “Oh there’s feelings Cas,” Dean murmured, “they’re just not always for the person you’re sleepin' with.”  
    “This too, I do not understand. This expression, ‘sleeping with’. Why do humans say this when it is the very opposite of what they are doing?”  
    Dean snorted. Damn Cas for always doin' this to him! Makin' him laugh when he wanted it least… and needed it most. He’d miss it. He’d miss _him_.  
    “It is – _complicated_ – is it not Dean?” Cas asked innocently.  
    “That’s one way of puttin' it,” the hunter mumbled.  
    “And they do not usually try to kill you afterwards?”  
    Dean choked out a laugh, “No Cas,” he said, “you just sometimes wish they would.”  
     
    They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Cas studying Dean’s face. “What is wrong Dean?” he asked eventually.  
    Dean looked away from the former Angel. _Damn this hurt!_ “Cas, I… You…" He sighed, staring down at his hands, then at the scarred table. Anywhere but at his friend. "You need to leave.”  
    Castiel looked at him, obviously wounded. “Why Dean? What have I done?” he asked quietly.  
    The hunter glanced up, then immediately back at his hands. The look Cas was giving him nearly broke him. “Nothing man. It’s... Cas it’s not you ok? It’s me.” He winced. Christ, he sounded like a jerk breaking up with his girlfriend. “Look. It’s just - Sammy’s not well. And the Angels are after you and... I have to look after him ok? He’s my brother!” Dean spluttered. This wasn’t getting any better, now he just sound like a jerk.  
    “But Dean, I can help!” Cas protested. “I can look after Sam when you are not here. And I can…”  
    “Look it’s not workin' ok?” Dean choked. “Don’t make me chose between you and my brother, Cas. 'Cause he needs me now. Don’t'cha get it? Sammy’s sick, and I... I don’t... I can’t…”  
    “Dean? I do not understand.” Cas stared at the hunter, his confusion plain on his face. “Do you not want my help…? I thought I was doing what you wanted. You... You prayed to me,” he stammered, “I am always here for you Dean. Just tell me what you need.”  
    “That’s the problem Cas!” Dean ground out, “You’re _always_ there! Whenever I turn around, you’re there. If I need you, you’re there. Even when I don’t think I do, or I can’t even bloody _see_ you, you’re _still_ there.” Dean turned away, “Whenever I think I’ve lost…”  
    He stood and moved away, turning his back on the Angel. “I can’t do this again Cas. I can't.”  
    Cas looked at Deans back, not quite understanding what his friend was trying to say. “Can't do what?" he asked frowning, head tilted to one side. "I do not do subtext well Dean, you know this. You’re confusing me.”  
    Dean hung his head in defeat, grinding his fist to his lips to stifle a sob. “You need t' go Cas. I… Sam is…" He sighed. "You can’t stay here man.”  
    Castiel stood abruptly, pushing his chair back into the wall. “You are truly asking me to leave." he stated. "You know it is not safe out there for me Dean. I am hunted, I rebelled, and now my brothers and sisters hunt me, and I did it for you Dean _._ Not myself. Not Sam. You. You and your brother tried to destroy Hell. And you _failed._ And I tried to... I… The Angels fell Dean! Because of me. Because I was trying to help _you_!" he shouted. Then, lowering his voice, he questioned, "And now you're telling me... _You are telling me I cannot stay with you_?” He looked at Dean, pain shimmering in his eyes. “After everything I've done, everything I've lost... my _Grace_ … It was all for nothing?” He took a step towards his friend, “Dean?” he begged.

    Dean spun abruptly, grabbing Castiel by the shoulders and shaking him. “Dammit Cas. You just don’t get it do you?” he pleaded. “I need you to… I need…” Then, shocking them both, he pulled the Angel towards him and kissed him.  
    There was no tenderness in the kiss, no gentleness. Pure need and frustration leaked out of Dean as he tried desperately to make Castiel understand what he, himself, didn’t even understand. Castiel’s eyes lit up with shock. But he didn’t push the hunter away.  
   When Dean finally let go of Cas he staggered, catching the back of a chair to keep his knees from buckling. Dean’s eyes shone with tears as Cas, stunned, stared at him for one frozen moment then stumbled back, raising his fingers to his mouth. “Dean. I-”

    “Just go Cas. Please. Just go.”

    Dean turned away and moments later, heard the outer door quietly close. When he finally looked back, the Angel was gone.

 _“I’m sorry Castiel.”_ he whispered brokenly to the empty bunker.


	2. Broken

    “ _You have a what?_ ” Dean sat bolt upright on his bed, eyes blurry from sleep.  
    “A date, Dean. I have a date.”  
    “And you’re callin' me... why?”  
    “Because I thought you could come and help me. You know, give me some advice. What to wear etcetera.”  
    “Lemme get this straight Cas. I don’t hear from you for weeks. You ignore my calls and texts. You don’t call me back. And now you’re callin' me, finally, 'cause you have a date and _you want to know what to wear?_ ” Dean stalked across the room, his fingers making a tangled nest of his dark hair. “I can’t believe this.”  
    “Well it is not like you wanted to see me Dean,” Castiel said, “ _You_ asked _me_ to leave, if you remember correctly. Right after you–”  
    “I didn’t want you to leave, I had no choice!” Dean cut in frantically, “Sam was – is – sick. And I was, I was…” He sighed. “Look, you ok man?”  
    “I am fine Dean. Are you going to help me or not?”  
    Dean paced his room, it was a mess. Kinda like his life. Dragging his hand distractedly through his untidy strands for what felt like the millionth time, he answered cautiously. “I guess… But I–”  
    “Rexford, Idaho. The Super 8 on West Main Street. Room 16. See you when you get here.”  
    “Listen Cas–”  
    “See you soon Dean.”     
    There was a click and Dean looked incredulously at his phone. Castiel had hung up on him.

    “So… what? He called and said he had a case?” Sam followed behind Dean like a lost puppy, questions tumbling from his lips as he watched his brother move around the room randomly shoving gear into his duffel. “And you didn’t ask what? Or where he’s been all this time? Dean? You’re just going? Just like that?”  
    “Just like that.” Dean agreed.  
    “Well I’m coming.”  
    Dean spun towards his brother, the heavy bag smacking him hard in the ribs as he turned. He winced, dropping it and rubbing at his side. “No, Sam. You need to stay here with Kevin. Work on translatin' the Angel tablet. This thing with Cas, it’s probably nothin'.”  
    “Sure sounds like something for you to dump everything and take off.”  
    Dean tucked a knife into the small of his back, grabbed his bag and bounded up the stairs, leaving his curious brother staring blankly up at him. _You have no idea Sammy,_ he thought, _and neither do I for that matter._ “I’ll letcha know if I need you.” he called back over his shoulder as he reached the exit.  
    “But–”  
    “Bye Sam.” Dean slammed the door behind him, shutting his curious brother in.  

     The Impala purred, responding to Dean’s touch like a lover. He pressed his foot further to the floor and felt the car surge forward instantly. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, “faster.” He felt bad for lyin' to Sam about where he was headed – and why – but his brother wouldn’t understand. Christ, _he_ didn’t understand. All he knew for sure was that he needed to get to Cas. Now.  
    The miles flew by as he tossed things around in his head. He knew there was _somethin'_ going on with them. And this thing, whatever it was, totally terrified him. Not much scared the older Winchester anymore, he was pretty much numb to everythin' that wasn’t an immediate problem and an instant fix. But there _was_ a lot going on and… Dean shook his head. He didn’t have time for this crap. _Dammit Cas!_ Why now? Sam was almost healed, Zeke would be gone soon, Crowley was contained on lockdown in the dungeon, and the bunker was safe. Kevin was even makin' progress on the Angel tablet. Sure it looked like toddler doodles, but still, progress. Things were… If not good, then at least under control. Granted Cas was on the run – no thanks to Dean – but why would he choose now to ask for _dating_ advice? Dean wasn’t sure whether to be merely pissed off, or gank the guy as soon as he saw him.  
    He cranked up the stereo (Lou Gramm was crooning 'A Love In Vain'... had Dean _really_ been listening, he would have pitched the cassette out the window and backed over it. Twice) and glanced into the rear-view mirror at the retreating mile marker. 20 miles to Rexford. He leant further on the Impala’s gas, urging her forward. He had to confront this thing with Castiel before it got any further out-of-hand. Pushing everything out of his head, he concentrated on his driving, if he was going to do this, he had to do it right. Otherwise he would never get any peace.

    Castiel opened the door to a jittery Dean, worn-out from his drive and looking like he wanted to throw something at him. Unable to help himself, he immediately checked his friend over from head to foot, searching for injuries. Dean squirmed under his gaze, yet to the former Angel's relief he seemed fine, if a little pissed. Looking into troubled green eyes, he smiled.  
    “Hello Dean.”  
    “You gonna let me in or not Cas?" Dean snapped, “Been a long drive.”  
    The ex-Angel laughed and stepped back to let him through, “Come in.”  
    “What’s this about Cas?” Stalking past Castiel, the Hunter did his usual danger survey. Cas watched his friend take quick stock of the studio room, then check the bathroom. Coming back into the main room, he tossed his duffel on the queen bed then balanced on the edge of the worn television unit, stretching his legs out. He pulled his knife from the waistband of his jeans and twirled it between his fingers, balancing the tip on his thumb.  
    “Talk to me.”  
    He looked at Cas irritably, then stuck the knife point down in the scarred wood and sprung to his feet again. “Wait, no. Hold up a sec. I need a drink.” He marched over to the bar fridge and looked inside. “No beer?” he asked. Castiel shook his head. Dean sighed and helped himself to a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels. “This’ll have to do then I guess.” He poured the liquor into a dirty glass and took a sip, sighing, then strode over to the room’s only window, collapsing onto the window seat. Taking a deep breath he said, “Right. Now. What’s goin' on? Tell me about this… date.”

    Castiel grabbed the room's only chair from behind the small desk, and turned it toward his friend. He sat unhurriedly and grinned at Dean’s feet. “I never believed it would actually work,” he said, half to himself. He shook his head and glanced up into expressive green eyes, which were currently watching him impatiently.  
    “What would work? Cas? What’s goin' on?”  
    “I have learned a lot in the weeks since you threw me out of the bunker Dean.”  
    Dean was instantly motionless, hanging his head guiltily. “Cas, I–“    
    “I have learned about human emotions,” Cas cut in. “Or rather, I have truly felt them myself, for the first time. The simple ones – fear, anger, joy, and sadness. And the more complex – trust, need, guilt yes… and jealousy. And I have learned the lengths humans will go to for the ones they care about. The ones they love.”  
    “Oh. Riiiight.” Dean looked up, “So _that’s_ what this is about. You’ve had… feelings… for someone, while you’ve been gone. Got it.” He stared back at the floor. “Got it…”  
    “Shut. Up. Dean.” Castiel paused just long enough to enjoy the look of shock on his friend’s face, “I have a speech all planned, and you are not going to deter me from it.”  
  
    Castiel stood cautiously, backing up to rest against the desk while simultaneously watching Dean’s face and the myriad of raw emotion playing there. He crossed his arms and nodded to himself.  
    “I manipulated you Dean. I prayed on your loyalty and your emotions to get you here.” He stopped and waited, letting the truth dawn slowly on his friend.  
    Dean looked up, searching the ex-Angel's face. “There's no date is there Cas?”  
    “There is no date.”  
    “You lied.”  
    “I am sorry Dean, but yes. For good cause I believe.”  
    Dean lurched to his feet, prowling the length of the room like a caged animal. “What the Hell Cas? What possible reason would be good enough for you to lie to me to get me all the way out here?” he demanded. “After all we’ve been through…”  
    “Yes Dean,” the ex-Angel said softly. “That is exactly why. _All that we have been through_.”  
    Dean stopped pacing and turned, glaring at his friend and hovering between the chair and the doorway. Castiel watched him closely, he knew he needed to be careful or Mr. Dean no-chick-flick-moments Winchester, would escape straight out the door.  
    “It was a necessary evil to get you here,” he said gently. He could see Dean was close to bolting so he rested his hands on his thighs, palms up, like you would near a flighty animal. “And I knew if I told you I had a case you would bring Sam. I needed a way to make sure you came alone. And you needed a reason to want to come.” He gestured toward the empty chair, “Sit down Dean. We need to talk. And this time, _you_ will listen.”

    Dean sat rigidly on the very edge of the chair as Castiel patrolled back and forth in front of him. His movements were very military, reminding Dean that he was, essentially, a soldier. He occasionally gestured as he spoke, and Dean couldn’t help but watch the way his slender fingers opened and closed as he illustrated one point or another. He tried to concentrate on what his friend was saying –he supposed he owed him that after all – but his gaze kept comin' back to his friend's fingers. Had they always been so… _hypnotic_?  
    “…On my Father’s command,” Cas was saying, “I raised you from perdition. I was told only that Dean Winchester _must_ live, and I followed orders like a good soldier. I was privileged to be chosen, and in awe of my Father’s trust. I went into the Abyss and found you, laid my hand upon you and brought you home. And I believed that to be all that was required of me. But no. From the moment I first touched you, I was drawn to you.”  
    He stopped at the window and gazed out at the street. A woman walked past with a small dog on a leash. She was very beautiful, with small round breasts and a tiny waist, and she smiled invitingly at the attractive man in the trench coat watching her through the window. Castiel didn’t notice. He watched the dog instead. It kept hauling on its restraint to get to an insect on the ground, and the woman kept pulling it away impatiently. Still the dog strained, only to be again wrenched away. It was a never-ending cycle. The dog would try to gain its freedom, to be with the thing it craved most, and the woman would jerk on its collar, pulling it back to her side. Castiel closed his eyes briefly. He knew how the dog felt. He turned away from the window and focused his full attention on the man in his room.  
    “When I was blown to pieces by Raphael, I was nothing. Millions of insignificant molecules floating in space. Again my Father bade me save you, so somehow, I was returned. When I quested for that same absent Father, your amulet was the key to my search. Once more I was led back to you Dean. I was by your side when you confronted Famine and felt no appetite. I know you asked him why. The Horseman said it was because you were empty inside, did he not? But did you consider it was because you were already fulfilled? I wondered.”  
    Dean shifted, leaning down on his chair and placing his glass on the floor between his feet. Was he getting comfortable? Castiel wondered; or putting himself in a better position to flee? Honestly he did not care either way. He needed Dean to listen, and if it meant tying him down; he would tie him to the bedposts if he had to.  
    Cas dropped down onto the very edge of the large bed, staring directly into troubled green eyes. Dean gazed back hypnotized.  
    “When I fell from Grace, and my Father deserted me,” Cas whispered, “you were there. You supported me, comforted me, and I began to have Faith again – _in you._ I defied my family for you, and we prevented the End of Days, together. Then Lucifer fragmented my awareness with a snap of his fingers, and again I was briefly lost. But against all odds I returned once more – to you. And in the middle of your sorrow for your brother, I saw joy. And I wondered.  
    Castiel closed his eyes, raking his fingers down his face, “But it was not until I betrayed you,” he murmured almost inaudibly, “and allied with the Demon Crowley, and _still_ you refused to give up on me, that I realized the depth of your feelings. And mine. You could have scorched me in holy-oil that day Dean, and I would have happily borne it for the hurt I caused you. I deserved it. And when I tried to repent, tried to come back to you, the Leviathan destroyed me. _And you kept my bloody coat._ My dirty. ratty. trench coat. Then, by some miracle, you found me and brought me back to myself. And when you returned my coat to me, again I wondered.”  
    "We even went to purgatory together Dean, where I was hunted for my crimes. And although I had betrayed and run from you, still you tried to protect me. You would have sacrificed yourself for me, had I not pushed you away."  
    “Then – three-and-a-half-weeks-ago – the most miraculous thing of all happened. You kissed me." he chuckled dryly. "Then you threw me out.”

    Dean choked back a laugh. Damn Castiel. For sayin' the most unexpected things. For being so unpredictable, and for makin' him laugh when he didn't deserve to. For makin' him feel needed. For makin' him _want_! And Dean did. He wanted… so many things. He really wished Cas would stop sayin' his bloody name like that though...  
    Sighing loudly, he reached down between his knees intending to take a large chug of his drink, only to find the glass empty. Tilting the glass, he stared into its depths for a moment, searching for… what? Answers? Peace? More booze? Whatever it was, he wasn't gonna find it in an empty glass. He sighed again and glanced up. Straight into bottomless blue eyes.  
    “Cas, I…” Dean shrugged one shoulder and lifted his glass, hoping to take a moment and defend himself against that penetrating gaze. He started to rise, but Castiel cut him off, taking his glass and pushing him gently back into his chair.  
    “Let me,” he said as he moved to the small fridge. He kept speaking as he poured Dean another drink.  
    “Angel emotions are different from human emotions Dean. We are – colder – more remote. You call us dicks, douche-bags–” Dean started to protest but Castiel, holding up a hand to silence him said, “Let me finish. We may seem stiff and uncaring, but we know no other way. We were created and existed for millennia to love God and only God. Our creator. Our _Father_. And we did Dean. We were obedient children." He sighed, "Then along came the humans. And we were _required_ to love them. There was no... choice. No free-will. So we did. We did what was required of us.”  
    Drink in hand, the former Angel turned, wandering almost absently across the room, apparently lost in thought. Eventually moving toward Dean, he offered the glass to his friend. As Dean reached to take it his fingers brushed against Castiel's, Dean's hand involuntarily jerking up and away, dumping the freshly made drink in his lap.  
    Cas continued his speech, ignoring his friends’ predicament and obvious agitation. “We loved humanity. But in a distant, abstract way, caring only for their lack of accountability and having no interest the trials of their daily existence. We saw them as pathetic, unrefined beings. Their – emotions – made them flawed. Fragile. To be pitied. And we did pity them. Such imperfection, such fault. How could this be just? When I looked upon Earth from my home, I was... perplexed. How could I know that these perceived weaknesses, these cracks in the human soul, would be their salvation? Their greatest strength. That, confusion, ceased for me when I met you. My brothers and sisters would say I became weaker, less able to do what was necessary. But I _know_ it made me stronger. Compassionate. Able to love unconditionally. _Humanly_. Still the lives of any single human never interested me. Until you.”  
    Castiel turned toward Dean, who was frowning and studiously wiping the spilled liquor off his jeans with his hands. He paused, watching his friend’s dark head bent to his task, his palm rubbing hypnotically against his thigh. Dean looked up and caught the look, fingers stuttering to a stop.  
  
    Castiel knelt slowly on the grubby carpet in front of the hunter, stilling his hands with a touch and capturing his full attention. “You taught me these things Dean. I have watched you struggle to be a good brother, a good person and a good man. A good friend… a good lover. And for all your self-perceived weaknesses, guilt and self-loathing, you are the most loyal, strongest and caring human I am blessed to know. Marvels such as you should not be squandered. They are to be treasured, nurtured… loved. And you are a miracle Dean. _My_ miracle.”  
    Dean’s green eyes widened, his gaze taking in Castiel kneeling in front of him. He tried to focus on what he was saying, his words were after all, nice – he supposed – but bloody long-winded. _Typical Cas,_ he thought fondly, blinking. His eyes refocused, and then all thought was lost in incredible blue eyes.  
    “I have existed for _several thousand years_ Dean Winchester. In Heaven, wasting away. I watched the creation of this world, the wonder of life, the evolution of mankind. And I petrified, I started to rot. And it wasn’t until I met one human man – one stubborn, brave, self-sacrificing, loyal, caring, complicated, _totally frustrating_ , absolutely wonderful human man – that I understood why.” Castiel sat back on his heels, his fingers resting on Dean’s knee, “I was waiting for you.”  
  
    Dean’s reaction was immediate. He exploded off the chair, side-stepping the prostrate ex-Angel and started prowling the room, retracing the path Cas had followed moments before, his green eyes welling. “Cas I don’t… I dunno about this. I mean… You’re a _dude_ Cas!” he spat. “And I’m not… I’ve never… I dig chicks ok?”  
    “ _You_ kissed _me_ Dean.”  
    Running his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time that day, the hunter stared at the ex-Angel for an endless moment, then crumpled onto the bed, all the fight seemingly gone out of him. “I know," he ground out. "Look I’m not – _I’m not_ – gay, Cas.” He struggled over the word, stammering uncertainly and staring fixedly at the floor. “The other day was… I dunno. Wrong?” He looked up at Cas, flashing a flippant, albeit wobbly, smile. “Y’know, I like boobs… you’re an Angel… It’d never work man.” He laughed shakily, frantically picking at the stain on his lap.  
    Castiel sat next to his friend on the bed, being careful not to scare him off. He tenderly rested his fingers underneath his friend’s chin, bringing his face level with his own. “Would it help if I told you I could have chosen any vessel Dean?” he asked gently. “Jimmy Novak was not my first, nor my only choice. I could, I _have_ , been female.”  
    “Yes!” Dean blurted, nodding. He looked away from his friend, then promptly back, on the verge of drowning in the ocean that was Castiel’s blue eyes. “I mean... I dunno… Maybe? Dammit Cas, I can’t think with you lookin' at me like that!”  
    The Hunter again looked away, then immediately back, defenseless against Castiel's gentle expression. He sighed, “No. You wouldn’t be you.”  
    “Then what?”  
    Dean reached up, tentatively cupping the Angel's cheek. His skin was… smooth, surprisingly soft, apart from the stubble. That was... unexpected. Nice. Castiel's eyes fluttered closed as Dean ran his thumb experimentally across his jaw. Man this was just _too weird_! This was _Cas_ for Christ’s sake! Were they really gonna…?  
  
    Dean jumped guiltily as the hotel door flew open. He barely looked up in time to see two – no – three figures swarm through the opening before he was thrown sideways across the room, slamming neck-first into the wall. He stayed conscious just long enough to see Castiel whacked across the temple by an angel blade, and watch him slump lifelessly to the floor.


	3. Home

    “Hallo boys.” Crowley drawled. “What can I do for Victoria’s secret's most wanted today?"  
    Dean, demon knife in hand, stormed into the Men of Letters dungeon. Sam loped along behind, hanging back near the door.  
    “Where’s Castiel, Crowley?” Dean growled. “I know you can find him. His enochian warding tattoo only makes him invisible to Angels.”  
    Sam opened his mouth to speak, then shut it abruptly.  
    “What’s wrong Moose?” asked Crowley, “Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled.  
    Sam held his hands up. “Not my Rodeo,” he replied. “Answer the question.”  
    “You mean he’s not here?” the Demon asked innocently. “I’d have thought you three would finally be shacking up. Living the American dream.” He leant back humming the Addams Family Theme, tapping the beat on the table. “Why don’t you just call him? Ask _him_ where he is?  
    Dean looked down, shuffling back and forth uncomfortably under Crowley’s gaze. Sam said nothing.  
    “Ahh. Let me guess. You two Princesses did something stupid, and now you need my help to find Dean's life-partner so he can fix it. Does it ever occur to you that he doesn’t exist purely for your amusement?” He leaned back, “Neither do I for that matter. Quid pro quo Clarice,” he growled, flicking his tongue in and out of his mouth, “Quid pro quo. You want Angel boy? I can give him to you. For a little something in return, of course.”  
    “No dice.” Sam said, turning to leave. “We’ll find him ourselves. C’mon Dean.”  
    Dean, starting to follow his departing brother, hesitated by the door. He turned to speak over his shoulder, “What do you want Crowley?” he asked quietly.  
    “Well well…” the Demon smirked. “Willing to deal are we Dean-o? Interesting…”  
    “Not deal.” Dean snapped, turning.  
    “A small favor then...”  
    “Depends on what you’ve got.” Dean paced the room impatiently, fiddling with his knife and staring at the floor.  
   “I’m waiting…” Crowley drawled.  
    “I’ll take off the shackles. Let you stretch your legs. But only in this room!”  
    Crowley studied Dean for a full minute before answering. “You look different cheekbones,” he mused. “What have you been up to?”  
    Dean lurched forward, slamming his hand down on the table. “Shut your trap.” he ordered. “There is _nothing_ different about me. I am exactly. the. same. as I was yesterday.”  
    “I think not.” Crowley leaned back, wincing as his bonds chafed. “Let me guess. You and that trench coated abomination have finally decided to get married, adopt homeless cherubim and live happily ever after; and you need me to find him so that you can surprise him and propose.”  
    Dean winced. “Clam it. You dunno what you’re talkin' about.”  
    Crowley studied Dean appraisingly. “I do know a little about the sins of the heart Dean. King of Hell and all that,” he bragged, pointing a thumb at himself. “If you truly want your boyfriend back…”  
    Dean leant slowly across the table, looking deeply into Crowley’s eyes. “You know nothing,” he said quietly. Abruptly driving the knife deep into the wood, he suddenly lurched across the table, grabbing the back of Crowley’s head and slamming it into the wood.  
    “Ow! You _twat!_ ”  
    Dean left, grabbing the knife and slamming the door, plunging the dungeon into gloom.  
    Crowley leaned back, mulling Dean’s behavior over in his head. Cracking his neck, he templed his fingers under his chin. “Curiouser and curiouser…” he murmured.

       
    The light flared brightly, making Crowley squint. “So who is it this time?” he said into the glare. “Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde?”  
    Dean leaned against the door frame, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  
    “Where is he Crowley?” he asked quietly.  
    “Why, whoever do you mean?” Crowley inquired, all innocence. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He smiled guilelessly.  
    Dean strode into the room, “You know exactly who I mean you bastard. Cas. _Where is he?_ ”  
    “Don’t know, don’t care. Next?”  
    “Don’t play games with me you dick. I’ll gank you in a heartbeat and sleep like a baby.”  
    Crowley smirked. “Have we met?” he drawled, awkwardly sticking out his hand. “Hi. King of Hell. Pleased to meet you. Games are what I do. And I think not my lovely," he rested his arms on the table and pointed one finger at Dean. "You need my help.”  
    “Not that badly.”  
    “Yes. That badly.”  
    “Dammit Crowley! Tell me where he is!” Dean demanded. “I just… I need to know he’s ok.”  
    “You know something, don’t you squirrel?” Crowley questioned, “Something you don’t want that gigantic baby brother of yours to know.”  
    Dean placed both hands on the table, leaning in face-to-face with the Demon. “Listen here you black-eyed bastard,” he threatened quietly, “if Cas is hurt, and I find out you could have done somethin'? So help me… I’ll exorcise you, bring you back, and do it all again. Then knife you. Twice.”  
    “Promises, promises.”  
    “Screw you.”  
    “Promises, promises.”  
    Crowley tilted his head, appraising the hunter thoughtfully. Something was different. _Dean_ was different. He was… Scared.  
    _Got you_.  
    “I’ll give you your little trench-coated dreamboat,” he said aloud, “I just want one tiny. little. thing.” he drawled, mimicking Dean’s earlier speech pattern. He leaned back in his chair and waited.  
    The eldest Winchester stood perfectly still. He barely breathed. Crowley watched him, taking note of the struggle taking place openly on his face.  
    “What?” Dean blurted finally. “What do you want?”  
    Well this _is_ interesting, Crowley thought. Usually it was the ab-twins against the world. Each willing to do whatever it took to keep the other safe and damn everyone else. Literally. It was all very precious. And infinitely boring. But here was something different. Dean was willing to deal. _For the Angel._  
    "I suppose a happy ending is out of the question?" The demon grinned saucily, raising an eyebrow. “No takers? Right then. Fresh air.” he said. “I want to go for a walk. Outside.”  
    “No way in Hell.”  
    Crowley rolled his eyes, “Been there, done her. Wrote the FanFic. You know you’re going to do this Dean. So why not just get it over and done with? I get what I want. And you get your Angel.” He leaned forward, “It’s a win win.”  
    “He’s not _my_ Angel!” Dean shouted, going bright red. He turned, pacing the room agitatedly. After a minute he spun and looked at the Demon.  
    “Screw you Crowley.”  
    He left abruptly, slamming the door after him.  
    “Bollocks.” Crowley muttered absently, lost in thought.

   
    Dean cracked the top off his beer and tossed the cap at the bin. He sighed as it fell short and leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles on the table.  
    “We’re not gonna find him are we Sammy?” he asked miserably. “Cas is gone.”  
    “I don’t get it Dean, what happened?” Sam asked. “One minute he calls asking for help with a case, the next you storm in here, busted up, yelling that he’s been taken.” Sam leaned back, “By who?”  
    Dean took a swig of his beer, absently watching a drop of condensation collect on the bottle. “I don’t know Sam. We were… workin' the case, when some of those Angel dick-bags found us in his hotel room. They knocked me out and took Cas.”  
    “What I don’t get though, is why he left the bunker in the first place. I thought he was happy to be here. He was certainly safer. He’s human now, and clueless. God knows what he’s been up to out there. What happened?”  
    Dean flinched guiltily, “Nothin'!” he blurted. “There was… It… nothin' happened. He just left ok?” He slipped his feet to the floor and lurched upwards. “Nothin' happened,” he mumbled again. “And he’s not _totally_ clueless.” He quirked a half smile to himself.  
    “What the hell does that even mean?”  
    “Nothin' man. Don’t worry about it.”  
    “Have you tried calling him?”  
    “Yes I’ve tried callin' him!” Dean spat. “Loads of times. It goes straight to voice-mail. There’s just that crappy non-message thing then nothin'.” He threw back the rest of his beer in one swallow and lobbed the bottle after the cap, it also fell short, shattering loudly on the ground.  
    Sam jumped, “Jesus Dean! Get a grip!”  
    “What've I done?” Dean mumbled. He sat back down, head falling onto the tabletop. “I’m losin' it Sammy,” he moaned. “I can’t do anythin' right.”  
    “Look man, he’ll turn up. He always does, right?”  
    Dean sat up, clenching and unclenching his fists and staring at his hands. “He better Sammy,” he choked out. “He better.”  
    Sam watched his brother beat himself up - _again -_ and wished, not for the first time, that he could do something to help him. The guilt that Dean constantly carried around on his shoulders was slowly crushing him. “So… What? Crowley?” he asked doubtfully.  
    “We need his help here Sam. He knows somethin', and unless we give him what he wants he’s not talkin'.”  
    “What does he want?”  
    “To go outside. Stretch his legs. Get some ‘fresh air’.”  
    “Dean that’s crap and you know it,” Sam said. “It’s _Crowley_. There’s always something else.”  
    “So what do we do Sam?” Dean said. “Keep chasin' out tails? Yeah 'cause that’s workin' _so_ well isn’t it?” He picked at the edge of the table, peeling the loose laminate off in strips. “Meanwhile Cas is God-knows-where, havin' God-knows-what done to him.”  
    Sam studied his brother closely, he could see lines of exhaustion carved into his face. Along with… Was that… _Pain_?  
    “He’s in danger Sammy. I can feel it. And I can’t… I don't... I need him to be alright ok?”  
    “Ok man,” Sam conceded. “We’ll give Crowley his little joy ride. But if he bolts…”  
    “Yeah I know. It’s on me. It’s _always_ on me.”

   
    “Shot-gun!” Crowley called, skipping happily to the front passenger door.  
    “Not gonna happen demon-breath,” said Sam. “Get in the back.”  
    “Aww... You boys really know how to ruin a girl’s fun.”  
    Dean pointed. “Back seat,” he ordered, “and don’t stain the leather.”  
    “I bet you say that to all the boys.”  
    “Meatloaf,” Dean muttered venomously, shaking his head in disgust.  
    They all piled into the Impala, Dean cranking the engine and revving until he was satisfied. He looked over into the back seat. “Where to?”  
    “106 East Kansas Avenue. And don’t spare the horses.”  
    Dean grunted, disgusted, and gunned it, the back wheels of the Impala spinning for a moment before gaining purchase and jerking straight.  
    "Road trip!" Crowley sang gleefully. He leaned forward across the front seat, "What do you reckon Moose? Muscle cars. Compensation or status-symbol? Thoughts?"  
    Sam sniggered involuntarily. "Quiet," he said. "When we kick your box you talk, not before."  
    "Party pooper."  
    He settled back again, making himself comfortable. "So Dean," he said conversationally. "Read anything good lately? I hear there's this great set of books online, ' ** _Supernatural_** '', or something equally inane. They have this nauseatingly sweet storyline about a Hunter and a fallen Angel who fall in love and live boringly-ever-after. Destiel they call them. Isn't that adorable?"  
    "What?" Dean blurted.  
    "What's a Destiel?" Sam asked.  
    The Demon grinned, closing his eyes and settling back into the leather.  
    "Crowley? _What's a Destiel?_ "  
    "Sorry boys. I don't hear my box knocking."  
    "Dean?"  
    Dean gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead at the road.  
    "What the hell is a Destiel?!"  
    "Shut up Sam."  
    "I don't get it."  
    "It's nothin' Sam, forget it."  
    Dean was _really_ going to enjoy ganking Crowley when the time came.

    “What the hell Crowley?”  
    “What?” Crowley said, all innocence. “You need information? I get you information. The entertainment’s a freebie.”  
    “What the hell is this place?” Sam asked.  
    “Business of mine.” The Demon smirked. “Pooches. It’s a bar for gentleman. Who like – _other_ – gentleman. I thought your brother would feel right at home.”  
    “Screw you.”  
    “Now now. We don’t want to make a certain disheveled cherub jealous do we?”  
    “Screw you.”  
    “Yes. You said that. Now do you want my help or not?”  
    Dean turned to his brother, “Sammy would you…?”  
    “No way Dean. This was your idea.” He settled into his seat, pulling out his laptop and opening it. “I’m good here.”  
    “Dammit. Fine.” Dean clenched his fists on the steering wheel and took several deep breaths.  
    “Tick-tock darling, tick-tock. I wonder what dear, sweet Castiel is doing right now? Do you think he’s in pain?” the Demon mused thoughtfully.  
    Dean erupted out of the car, wrenching open the back door and hauling Crowley out by his elbow. “No funny business right? Or I’ll-”  
    “Yes I know, sweetie. Exorcism. Stabbing. Blah-di-blah. It’s all become rather tedious don’t you think? Besides, I do have these lovely adornments.” He held up his cuffed wrists. “Unless…”  
    “Not a chance in hell.”  
    “Pity. I bet we could have some fun.” Crowley winked and waggled his eyebrows.  
    “Shut up Crowley.”  
    The Demon leered at Dean, “This is going to be great. Something to write about in my diary,” he laughed. “And re-read over and over again on those long lonely nights of confinement.”  
    “Shut up Crowley.”  
    “You really need to get some new lines lover-boy. Read a book sometime. You’re starting to sound like somebody left you on repeat.”  
    “Shu-”  
    Crowley howled with laughter, tears running down his face. “I rest my case,” he hiccuped, wiping his eyes.  
    “Come on.” Dean shoved the chuckling Demon along in front of him. “Get in there. Do your thing. And find–“  
    “Your Angel?”  
    "Dammit, he’s not my Angel!” Dean shouted.  
    Sam looked up briefly from his laptop, opening his mouth to say something. Seeing the look on his brother’s face, he snapped his lips together, quickly looking back down at his lap.  
    “So you say. But what does Castiel say, hmmmm?”  
    “Right now, nothin'. We have to find him first.”  
    “That we do. Now sit back and let me do my thing. Indulge in the… _festivities_. You might just enjoy yourself.”

   
    Sam was watching cat videos on YouTube when Dean appeared beside the Impala and opened his door.  
    “Get out.”  
    “What? Dean I-”  
    “I said get out Sam.”  
    The younger Winchester looked at his brother in shock. “What happened? Where’s Cas? Dean-”  
    “Sam.”  
    Sam closed his laptop and slowly climbed out of the car.  
    “Dean, what…?”  
    Dean slammed the passenger door and rounded the front of the car to climb into the driver’s seat. “Take that home,” he ordered, jerking his thumb at Crowley. “And make sure it’s locked up tight.”  
    Sam watched his brother in disbelief as he cranked the Impala and sped off, kicking dust up behind him.  
    “What did you do?” Sam asked, still reeling over how easily Dean had dumped him on the side of the road with the Demon.  
    “What he wanted,” Crowley mused thoughtfully. “I found the Angel. He just didn’t like what he found.”  
    Sam looked at the Demon. “And what did he find?” he asked.  
    “Himself.”

 

    “Don’t you dare be dead Cas,” Dean muttered. “If you’re dead so help me I’ll kill you myself.” He leaned harder on the gas, flying across the blacktop. Crowley had found the ex-Angel alright. Up to his neck in trouble again. He’d been kidnapped by a bunch of rogue Angels, which Dean knew, and was being held, ironically, in the Church of Deliverance in Junction City, Kansas. His fingers tapped out a nervous tattoo on the steering wheel and he shifted back and forth in his seat, unable to keep still. If Castiel was hurt, or worse… _No_. He wouldn’t even think it. Cas was ok. He had to be. Dean would know, wouldn’t he? Now that they were… What _were_ they exactly? Involved? Partners? …Butt-Buddies? Dean shuddered. _This was so weird!_ He wasn’t exactly the poster-child for healthy relationships, and this one was right out of crazy town. _What the hell was he getting himself into_? He supposed it helped that Cas _could have_ been a woman, he just chose a different meat-suit. Dean pictured Cas with boobs and laughed out loud. “You dick,” he said, then shook his head. Great, now he was talking to himself. Pretty soon he’d be singing nursery rhymes and slurping pudding through a straw. What had the bloody ex-Angel done to him? Well he’d happily work it through as long as Cas was ok. “Let him be ok,” he pleaded to the dashboard. “I’ll never question this _thing_ again if he can just be ok.” He wound down his window and jacked the stereo up full blast. “Please be alright Cas… I need you.” His whispered plea was carried away on the wind as he sped into the night.

 

    The Impala took the corner on two wheels, slamming back down onto the blacktop and laying rubber as it came to a screeching halt at the front of the church. Looking around frantically, Dean spotted Cas sitting on the curb underneath a street light. The glare fell around his shoulders, illuminating him from above. He was dirty, his clothes were ripped and he had blood all over him. But he was alive, and in the light of the street lamp he seemed to … _shine_.  
    Dean hurried over and pulled his friend jerkily to his feet, anxiously checking him over for injuries.  
    “Hello Dean.”  
    “Cas? You ok?” His hands roamed all over Castiel, pulling aside his shirt, searching for the source of the blood. “I can’t see… Are you alright?”  
    “I am unhurt Dean. The blood is not mine.”  
    Dean dropped his hands to his sides. “Then what happened?”  
    “Bartholomew has mobilized a faction of Angels to take me out. Malachi has been amassing his own force to counteract him. They brought me to this place to try to get information from me on how to get back into Heaven. They were going to torture then kill me.”  
    “Then… Not for nothin' Cas, I’m over-the-moon and all that but, why aren’t you dead?”  
    “I destroyed them.” Castiel whispered.  
    “All of 'em?”  
    “Yes. Except…”  
    “What?”  
    “Except one. I… I stole his Grace Dean. He was in the same company as me, I was his commander. He was my... brother. And I stole his essence.” Cas hung his head in shame.  
    “Then you…”  
    “I am an Angel again. Yes.”  
    Dean gaped at his friend. “You’re a, well… great! That’s _great_. Isn’t it?”  
    The Angel finally looked up, sadness leaking from his eyes. “Stolen Grace Dean. Do you understand? It was not mine to take, but I took it anyway. I would have let them kill me Dean. But I knew I had to…”  
    “Had to what Cas?”  
    “Get back home.”  
    “To Heaven?”  
    “No. Heaven isn’t home for me anymore. Not for a long time.”  
    “Then where…?”  
    “To you, Dean. You are my home.”  
    The hunter stared at the Angel, unsure what to say. Cas stared back, blue eyes wide and vulnerable. He took a hesitant step toward Dean, one hand outstretched.  
    So Dean did the first thing he could think of. He hauled back and punched him. Then he pulled him close.  
    “Swear to God Cas if you ever disappear on me like that again I’ll beat your brains out with your own Angel blade. You hear me?”  
    Castiel spoke gingerly, flexing his jaw. “I can hear you perfectly fine Dean,” he said resting his head on the distraught Hunter’s shoulder, “you’re right next to me.”  
    Dean’s shoulders shook as he chuckled into his friend’s neck. “Not what I meant Cas.” He pulled back and cupped Castiel’s cheek, lost for a moment in his blue eyes. Sighing, he clumsily cupped the Angel’s cheek for a brief moment, then reluctantly pulled away.  
    “Let’s go home.”

   
    The Impala purred, trees flashing by as they drove toward the bunker. As they drove _home_. Castiel’s hand hovered on the seat between them, fingertips grazing the hunter’s thigh.  
    “How old d'you say you were Cas?” Dean asked.  
    “It is not important.”  
    “The hell it isn’t!”  
    “Well... I guess that depends on how you look at it Dean. My true persona is several thousand millennia old. But I have only been on Earth for under 10 years if you include all my incarnations and vessels. So…”  
    “So... great. I’m a cradle snatcher and a grave robber. _Fantastic_.”  
    “Well Dean, technically you _are_ a grave robber.” Cas insisted.  
    “Yeah, not helpin' Cas.”  
    “What are we going to tell Sam?”  
    “I haven’t worked that part out yet, I barely understand what’s goin' on myself.”  
    “Do you want me to stay out of it? Let you talk to your brother alone?”  
    Dean sighed, “Maybe.” He looked at the Angel riding shot-gun. “No. Anyway's I'm pretty sure he already knows somethin’s up. Sam’s not stupid.”  
    “No he’s not. But he can be extraordinarily self-absorbed sometimes.”  
    Dean burst out laughing. “True. But he’s usually pretty good at sussing out when I’m keepin' somethin' from him.”  
    “So what will you say?”  
    Dean sobered up instantly. “Dunno. But I do know I’m not lettin' you out of my sight any time soon.”  
    Cas smiled. “I like the sound of that.”  
    “Me too.”  
    Dean glanced at his Angel. _His Angel?_ When did he start thinking of Cas as his? Well he guessed he’d have to start makin' _a lot_ of changes if this was gonna work. He turned his gaze back toward the road.  
    Starting with Zeke. He needed to work out how to get the damn Angel out of his brother. And soon. He wasn’t plannin' on wastin' another minute with Cas. And if Zeke didn’t like it? Well he could just bugger off. He’d just have to find another way to help Sam. He reached across and hesitantly took Castiel’s hand. Cas responded with a squeeze and smiled.  
   

    Dean would come up with a way to save Sam. He always did.

 


	4. Beginnings

    Dean looked at Castiel nervously. “Cas I dunno 'bout this…”  
    “The premise is really quite simple Dean,” the Angel said. “Here, I have a book.”  
    “You have a w _hat_?"  
    “A book Dean. I bought a book.”  
    “Jesus Cas! You…” Dean burst out laughing.  
    "What?” the Angel asked innocently.  
    “You don’t get books about sex Cas! You just don’t.”  
    “But Dean, you have plenty of books about sex. Why just the other day I –"  
    “That’s _porn_ , Castiel. Porn mags are _not_ books about sex. They’re…” He paused, wondering how to explain the difference to the confused Angel. “They’re just different ok?”  
    “Well of _course_ they’re different Dean. My book only has men in it.”  
    Dean instantly stopped laughing. That was the root of the problem wasn’t it. He and Castiel were both men. And Dean wasn’t sure what the hell he was doin'. Figuratively _or_ literally.  
    Castiel sat down on the bed next to Dean, taking his hand and pulling it into his lap. “This is strange for me too Dean,” he said. “I have only ever lain with one other. And she tried to kill me immediately afterwards.”  
    Dean sighed, “I promise I won’t try t' kill you Cas,” he said.  
    Cas lifted Dean’s hand, placing a kiss in the middle of his palm. “And I promise I will not hurt you Dean,” he replied.  
    They stared at each other for a moment, green on blue, lost in each others eyes. Finally Dean blinked and looked down saying, “I’m still not s' great with this stuff Cas. Every time we’re together like this I wanna bolt, screaming.”  
    “I know. But you are getting better. I am holding your hand aren’t I? And you have not tried to wash it yet.”  
    Dean laughed again, he seemed to doin' a lot of that lately, and it was all because of Cas. _Bloody Angel_ , he thought fondly. “Yeah, I guess I’m gettin' better,” he said. “But I still can’t see us doin' the... _things_ … in your book.”  
    Castiel frowned. “Actually. I have a question about that.”  
    Dean groaned, trying to pull his hand out of Cas’. The Angel held on tight, not letting him withdraw.  
    “Dean?”  
    “I’m sorry Cas. I… What d'ya wanna know?”  
    “Well, the book explains things very, _thoroughly_ , however I am not sure I understood the – mechanics – properly.”  
    He jumped off the bed, leaving Dean flop onto his back, throwing his arms over his face in dismay.  
    “…Now on page, 43,” Cas began, “The instructions say to –"     

    “Dean? Cas? Where are you guys?” Dean heard his brother call out from disturbingly close by.  
    He immediately panicked and jumped off the bed, tripping over his feet and barreling into Cas. They went down in a tangle of limbs, Dean landing on his back with Castiel somehow ending up sitting astride Dean’s hips. The book flew across the room, sliding down the wall and landing open on a _very_ graphic page.  
    “Sam? Crap. Hang on. I’m…” Dean flailed, trying desperately to dislodge Cas and get up.  
    Sam barged into the room, stopping short in shock at the scene before him.  
    “Dean I…”  
 _“Dude! Don’t you knock!?”_ Dean shouted at his younger brother from the floor.  
    Sam started backing quickly out of the room spluttering apologies as he went.  
    “Hi Sam,” Cas said mildly. “How is Kevin?”  
    “Kevin’s good Cas. He’s–"  
    “Get. Out. Sam.” Dean rasped.  
    Sam backpedaled as quickly as his legs could take him. Which was pretty damn quick. He had _very_ long legs.  
    “Ok, well, I’ll…”  
    “Bye Sam,” Cas waved from his perch atop Dean. “I guess I will see you later then.”  
    “Right. Later.” Sam muttered, slamming the door behind him.  
    Dean groaned, again struggling to get up. “I am never. _Ever_. Gonna hear the end of this." he mumbled.  
    Cas reached down, gently grabbing Dean’s hands, stilling him. “I gather you have not spoken to your brother then?”  
    “I haven’t had a chance!” Dean squawked. Cas was sitting on him _very_ heavily.  
    “I see.”  
    “No. Cas, you don’t… I...Look, I’m sorry ok? There’s been so much goin' on, there’s Kevin and… and Crowley’s in the basement and… the Angels…” He trailed off, seeing the hurt on Castiel’s face.  
    “I am quite well aware of what has been happening Dean. I have been here. With you.” Castiel shifted, grinding Dean’s hips excruciatingly into the floor. “Are you ashamed of me?” he asked quietly.  
    “No!” Dean blurted. “I just haven’t… I…” He closed his eyes. “I’m scared Cas,” he whispered. “What if Sam doesn’t understand? What if he doesn’t accept… _this_?” He looked down, indicating with his chin the point where the two men were touching.  
    “He is your brother Dean. And he loves you. I think he has proven that enough times over the years." Castiel tilted his head to one side, "Do you trust him?” he asked.  
    “Yeah Cas, I trust him. With my life.”  
    “Then trust him also to love you no matter who you are. Or who you choose to love.” Castiel leaned down, brushing a quick kiss across Dean’s forehead. “He trusts you.”  
    “I know.” Dean sighed. “You’re amazing, y'know that?”  
    “I have been told that before.”  
    Dean laughed and looked up at Castiel, a cheeky glint in his eye. Grabbing the Angel's hips, he tugged him forward and kissed him thoroughly. “While you’re here,” he grinned, “What was that about page 43?”

     Sam stood in the main room of the bunker, knuckling his eyes and trying desperately to forget what he’d just walked in on. His big brother. And Castiel. _Together_. He was gonna need soap. Buckets of soap. _Immediately_. It wasn’t like he was stupid, he knew they were close, and there had been _a lot_ of looks and innuendo over the years. Crowley _and_ Balthazar had _both_ pretty much told them to get a room, Balthazar even telling Dean that Cas was in love with him. But he’d never thought they _actually_ would. Get a room, that is. He’d never thought he’d _see_ the day when they… What? Finally got their crap sorted? Kissed and made up? Had angry animal sex in Dean’s bedroom?  
    Sam shook his head. He’d noticed that his brother had been happier lately, but he’d assumed it was because everything was quiet. Kevin was plugging away at the Angel tablet, happily drawing doodles on every scrap of paper he could find and mumbling about lost languages and Elamites. Whatever _they_ were. Crowley was… Well, Crowley was Crowley. Insulting everything that came within spitting distance and raving on about Abaddon stealing his crown. What a Princess. Sam personally thought that Crowley was quite content where he was, hiding out in the bunker’s dungeon and staying out of danger until the brothers could work out how to gank the hell-bitch for him.  
    Everything _was_ quiet. And why shouldn’t Dean be happy? He’d been through enough crap, he freakin' deserved it. When things didn’t work out with Lisa, Sam thought that was it. He’d never seen his brother so _broken_. He thought he'd given up. So if Cas made him smile again, then why shouldn’t they be together? There was the whole Angel thing of course, but Castiel had proven to them again and again that he was not like the other dick-bags he called siblings. In fact, there were a few of them over the years that turned out not to be so bad. Gabriel, Balthazar _(...Gadreel…)_ Sam stopped. Who the _hell_ was Gadreel? He shook his head, trying to clear it, and massaged his temples. He was getting another headache. He’d had a few lately, real bitches, ripping through his skull like a hurricane, leaving him exhausted and unable to remember what had happened. A few times he’d even passed out. Dean said it was nothing, that he was still healing from the trials, but Sam had his doubts. Cas had checked him out too, declaring him well on the mend, then hurrying off to work with Dean. Sam had an idea of what that _'_ work' entailed now, he just didn’t want to think about it too hard. So _yeah_ , Cas. If the Angel could make his brother happy, he was all for it. _As long as he didn’t decide he wanted to be God again._ If he did that – if he broke his brother’s heart – Sam would hunt him down and stick an Angel blade in him himself. Twice.

     An hour later Dean came out to Sam, freshly showered and rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Castiel was nowhere in sight. _Thank God_. Sam thought. No matter what he’d decided earlier, he didn’t think he could handle seeing them together right at this moment.  
    “Sam? Dude. We really need t' talk.”  
    “No. Dean. We _really_ don’t.”  
    “Look Sammy, you’re the one who’s always goin' on about me openin' up and gettin' my crap out in the open, so yeah, this is me. Gettin' the crap out.” He winced, that didn’t come out right. “Look I wanted to talk to you ages ago, but it hasn’t really come up.” Damn. That was worse. He tried again. “Sam I –"  
    “So.” Sam cut in. “You and Cas.”  
    Dean sighed. “Yeah. Me and Cas.”  
    “How long?”  
    “I dunno. A few weeks?”  
    “A few… _weeks_?” Sam echoed. “Where've I been?”  
    “Yeah well, we haven't exactly been sendin' out invitations man. Sam, I wantcha t' know… I dunno what you _think_ you saw, but we… Me and Cas I mean. We haven’t –"  
    “Dean! T.M.I. man! _I do not need to know the details._ Okay?”  
    “Crap. Sam, I wasn’t gonna, y’know, _describe_ anythin'. I mean, dude, I’m still me," he spread his arms and gestured at his head then his heart, "Emotionally stunted and all that.”  
    “Dean, you are _not_ emotionally stunted, man. You never have been. I mean, dude, you cry more often than any person I know.” Sam smiled to soften his words.  
    "Yeah well, you don't know many people do you Sammy?" Dean smiled crookedly.  
    "More than you."  
    Sam studied his brother closely, taking note that the stress lines on his forehead seemed finer, the laugh lines around his eyes deeper. “I guess you just never found the right person until now. You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with man. Sometimes they find you." He grinned, "Literally, in your case.”  
    “Guess so Sammy.” Dean smiled tentatively. “So we're good? You’re good with... this… whatever _this_ is?” He shook his head. “Man I don’t even know what it is yet.”  
    “You’re happy Dean?” Sam questioned gently.  
    Dean looked up at his brother, eyes brimming, “Yeah Sammy. I’m happy.”  
    “Then I’m good.”  
    Dean pulled his brother into a bear hug, a single tear escaping from his eye. “Thanks man.”  
    “No problem.”  
    Dean walked away towards to his room to do, _whatever_ , he was planning on doing. Sam didn’t want to know. Still, now that it was all out in the open he felt kinda guilty for his earlier reaction. Then he remembered the book he glimpsed on the floor in Dean’s room and shuddered.  
    “Oh and Dean?”  
    “Yeah?”  
    “I might be able to handle you and Cas gettin’ it on, but dude?”  
    “What?”  
    “ _I am not buying your porn_!”  
    “Screw you, Sam!”  
    “Screw Cas, Dean!”  
    Sam smiled, well this was going to be… _interesting_.

    Castiel looked up from his perch on the bed when Dean entered the room, putting aside the book he was reading. Not _that_ book Dean saw to his relief, some obscure text he must have grabbed from the archives.  
    “Well?”  
    “I told him.”  
    “What, exactly, did you tell him Dean?” Cas asked gently.  
    “I told him that we were… That you were…”  
    “That I was what?” Cas said smiling.  
    “That you were mine.”  
    “And I am yours.”  
    “Yeah.”  
    Castiel patted the bed next to him and Dean sat, collapsing back against the pillows. “Are you ok?”  
    “Yeah, I’m good.” Dean smiled at the Angel, “I’m really good.”  
    “Good. Then come here.” Castiel held out his arms and Dean went into them. In spite of his awkwardness, and it still did feel weird, this was _Cas_. His Angel. Everything was good for the moment. And if Dean Winchester had learned _anything_ over the years, it was to seize the moment by the balls and wring it with everything he had.

    Crowley stirred in the darkness, his eyes glazed, looking slowly around the empty room. He cocked his head, listening to something only he could hear. Stretching, he methodically rubbed out the kinks in the muscles he could reach. His back hurt, the blood that he had taken from Kevin earlier, and injected into his arm, was rapidly wearing off. He needed another hit, and soon.  
    He couldn’t think straight when he was like this, and if there was one thing he abhorred above all else, it was not being able to _think_. He cocked his head again, for all the world looking like an owl heeding the noises of the night. There was something rattling about in his brain, something that he couldn’t. quite. grasp. Something _important_.  
    He stared blindly at the dirty table, clasping his shackled hands in front of him as if praying. The table blurred in and out of his vision, the tabletop forming spirals and patterns in front of him. He concentrated… He could _almost_ hear it. Tilting his head gently up and to one side, he waited, as if to receive a whispered message from a lover. He could wait. One thing the Demon had learned throughout his long life was infinite patience. Still, he frowned. It. was. right… There.  
    _(…The First Blade…)_  
    Crowley shifted, laying his head on his arms.  
    He took a deep breath.  
    And he smiled.


	5. Vegas Baby!

    The two men sat comfortably at a large table with a map etched into its surface, lights blinking mysteriously at different points on it's design. They sat side-by-side, the taller man’s legs resting in the others lap. They looked to be of a similar age, one with honey brown spiked hair and eyes the color of leaves in spring, the other sporting hair slightly darker and messier, with eyes blue like twilight, just before the darkness sets in. Both appeared young, one dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, the other in a suit and beat-up trench coat. Nobody watching them would guess that one was millennia old, the other barely past his mid-30's. They sat companionably, the blue-eyed man reaching down to massage the others feet, watching him squirm with affection. One of the men was human, perhaps not a normal human, but a man nonetheless. The other, decidedly _not_ human. An Angel sent from Heaven, he had been given the task of saving the human from several lifetimes of suffering. And against all odds, and through countless obstacles, they had fallen for each other.

    “I still don’t understand why you asked me to leave,” the Angel - Castiel - said. “You threw me out without an explanation. I would like one now please. If we are going to make this – _us_ – work, you need to start trusting me.”  
    The human - Dean Winchester - was currently desperately trying to ignore the fact that they were sitting together like this out in the open. He wasn’t a gentle man, far from it, he was a Hunter, and he had never been fully at ease with intimacy of any sort, _particularly_ toward another man. He _was_ trying though, hence the current seating arrangements. He stretched, idly wondering how to explain his previous actions to his Angel without actually admitting his mistake out loud. _His Angel_ , he thought. Castiel, ‘ _Cas’_ , was his. Christ… How did that even happen? He thought back over the past few weeks, running the events slowly through his mind. Of course, he _had_ started it. As the Angel had so eloquently reminded him, he had thrown Castiel out on his ass without any real explanation. Right after kissing him and shocking the crap outta them both.  
    Since then things had been bumpy. Dean at first refusing to even acknowledge to _himself_ that Castiel was more than a friend; then when he finally did, hiding it from his younger brother Sam. He still refused to admit he was in love with the Angel, shying away from the subject whenever it was mentioned. Even getting defensive and, on a few occasions, aggressive; generally toward breakable inanimate objects. Despite this, he wasn’t typically a violent man, he did what was necessary, saving his softer side for the people he cared about.  
    For Castiel it was _much_ easier, as an Angel of the Lord, he was mostly innocent in the roller-coaster that was human emotion, and as such simply accepted Dean as his love as if they were always meant to be. And that was that, as far as he was concerned.  
      
    Dean sighed, he supposed now was as good a time as ever to confess what he had done to save his younger brother. _This time._  
    “Look Cas, here’s the thing,” he said. “I told you that an Angel named Ezekiel offered to heal Sammy, right? But what I didn’t say was that he told me he needed to do it from the inside. So I… I tricked Sam into saying yes. He’s still in him now, healin' Sam’s injuries. That’s why I asked you to go. Ezekiel threatened to leave Sam’s body to heal itself if you didn’t. And Sam wasn’t strong enough to get better on his own. It woulda killed him Cas. And you were human so…”  
    “I couldn’t help. I know”  
    “Yeah.”  
    “Dean, I need to tell you something. Ezekiel is dead. I discovered it when Malachi and his faction captured me. He died in the fall.”  
    “Come again?” Dean sat bolt upright in his seat, staring at Castiel. “Then who…?”  
    “His name is Gadreel. He was the original guardian of the Garden of Eden. He was locked away for allowing the serpent to enter the garden. He is _the_ reason for sin. I did not know he was actually inhabiting your brother or I would have told you much sooner. Dean, he cannot be allowed to remain.”  
    Dean sat up abruptly, his feet falling to the floor. “What?” he ground out, “I’ll kill him. I’ll rip off his wings and stuff ‘em so far down his throat every time he farts he’ll take off. That dick lied to me.” He punched the table, startling Cas, “Christ, why am I even surprised? Douche-bag Angels,” he muttered.  
    “That kind of generalization distresses me Dean.” Castiel said, standing, “I am _also_ an Angel you know.”  
    “Yeah I know Cas, I’m sorry. But you’re not like them.” Dean raked his hand through his dark hair, “I’ve just had it being dicked-over by 'em, y’know?”  
    “I know.” Castiel said quietly. “And I _am_ sorry.”  
    “Not your fault Cas,” Dean told him, standing. He started to pace, gesturing wildly in his agitation. “So, what? We need to get this… Gadreel? out of Sam. How the hell do we do that? He can come and go whenever he wants. He… controls Sam. And Sam… he isn’t well enough. He’s-”  
    “ _I_ can heal Sam, Dean.” Castiel said. “It will be a slower process, and I will have to do it in stages. I am not at my full strength. The Grace I possess, it is not mine, and it dissipates slowly over time. It _will_ weaken me, but I will try. For you.”  
    Dean turned to look at the Angel, seeing the earnestness in his eyes. “I don’t want that Cas.”  
    “Would you rather I leave?” The Angel asked gently. “Gadreel will come to the forefront in your brother’s awareness sometime soon, I am surprised it has not happened already, and when he realizes that I am here…”  
    “He’ll try to kill you.”  
    “Yes. And he will either succeed, or…”  
    “You’ll have to kill him. Kill Sam.”  
    “Yes.”  
    Dean moved restlessly over to the bar. Pouring himself a drink, he downed it in one gulp before spinning abruptly and throwing the empty glass at the wall where it shattered. “ _Dammit_! Why can’t anything ever be easy?”  
    “I should just leave.” Castiel moved toward the stairs, “I do not want to make this any harder on you than it need be.”  
    “No! Castiel, you’re not leaving man. I don’t… Just, gimme a second ok? I need to _think_.”  
    The Angel paused, one foot on the staircase. “I am sorry Dean.”  
    “I know Cas, and I’m sorry too man, but he’s my brother y’know? And I…”  
    “Need to make a choice.”  
    “Yeah.”  
    Dean turned, drinking in the sight of the trench coated Angel in front of him. He’d been asked to choose before, and he had chosen wrong. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He collapsed into a chair, his shoulders hunched. “I don’t want you to go. Dammit I'm just getting used to you!' He grinned, then hung his head, staring at his feet. "I choose you, Cas,” he murmured to the floor. “Always.”  
    Castiel moved back across the room, taking Deans shoulders and gently lifting him from his slumped position, “I choose you too Dean. I have always and will always choose you. I love you.” He smiled softly.  
    “Yeah… I…” Dean struggled with the words, “You too Cas.” He finally ground out.  
    “I know.”  
    They stood that way for a moment, Castiel’s hand curved around the place on Dean’s shoulder where he first lost himself to him. The day his long, lonely existence changed forever.  
    Castiel was the first to move, shifting slightly away and staring fixedly at the ground. He shuffled his feet nervously, trying to decide whether to tell Dean the thought that had just occurred to him. Eventually looking up, he searched Dean’s eyes, troubled by the desperation he saw there, and decided. “I have an idea of how to banish Gadreel from Sam’s body. But you’re not going to like it,” he warned.  
    “What is it?” Dean asked quickly, “I’ll do anythin'.”  
    Cas nodded to himself, he was afraid Dean would say that. He sighed.  
    “Fine. We are going to need the Abomination’s help.”

    Sam was bone weary. After finding out earlier that day, in the weirdest bloody way possible, that he was possessed by an angel, he had ejected Gadreel – with Dean, Cas and Crowley’s help – and he felt like he had been rode hard and put away wet, as Bobby used to say. He sighed and, not for the first time, wished Bobby was still alive, he could do with the old coot’s advice. _At least the headaches are gone_ , he thought. He understood why his brother did what he did, he was dying, _again_ , but he didn’t know if he agreed with him. He knew Dean was convinced he had done the right thing, he wouldn’t have done it otherwise. But Dean was _always_ convinced he was right, coming up with these half-cocked ideas and running with them without running it by him, or even a second thought on the back-fire potential. To be fair, he _was_ in a coma, Sam conceded, it’s not like Dean could ask his permission. But still, his brother managed to get him to say yes without him having to wake up. He _could have_ asked. Sam woulda said no though and of course Dean knew that. He sighed. Was his big brother ever going to stop making his choices for him? It’s not like he was a kid anymore. He was big enough to sort crap out for himself. Dean would just have to mind his own business and learn to _deal_. Sam was dealing with Dean’s decision to be with Castiel. _That_ was hard enough without him having to worry about this crap as well. Dean would just have to give him some space. They would have to go their own way sometime, and Sam had the feeling that time was coming all too soon. For now, he was keeping his distance. Dean had really pissed him off this time, and he needed time to get his head straight before they worked together again.

    “Las Vegas,” Crowley stated.  
    Dean frowned. “I... What?”  
    “Cain, you bloody imbeciles,” he sneered, “As in Cain and Abel? He’s in Las Vegas. He has the blade. It’s his.”  
    Crowley had just finished explaining to the Winchesters and Castiel about the First Blade and its ability to kill the Knights of Hell and consequently, Abaddon. Sam had left to see what he could dig up in the archives.  
    “You mean he’s still alive?” Dean stood on the other side of the table, glaring at Crowley.  
    “Why wouldn’t he be?”  
    “I thought he was human?”  
    “He _was_ human, genius, now he’s a Demon. A Knight of Hell actually. Their commander.”  
    “Crap.”  
    “Yes. Thank you, Tolkien.” Crowley sneered.  
    “But... _Vegas_?” Dean asked. “Why?”  
    “ _Why?_ ” the Demon mocked. “It is the city of sin you Neanderthal. Where else would the man that committed the very first sin be?”  
    Dean turned to look at Cas who was standing, arms crossed, by the door. “What do you think?” he asked.  
    The Angel turned, pacing the floor and mulling it over in his head. “It's possible,” he mused, “I suppose it could be there.”  
    “Of course it’s there.” Crowley snapped. “Would I lie about something this important? I want the bitch gone as much as you, more even. And we need that blade to do it.”  
    Dean ignored him, watching Castiel as he wore circles into the floor. “He could be lyin',” he said, “that’s the only thing he’s good at.”  
    “True,” Cas conceded, “However he needs Abaddon gone even worse than we do. And I doubt he would go to such extreme lengths just to get us to take him on a joy-ride to Nevada.”  
    “No but he might be lyin' to get us to take him outta here so he can give us the slip out in the desert somewhere.”  
    “He would have to be an imbecile to think we would let him out of our sight long enough for him to try.”  
    “He is a dick.”  
    “True, but he is not totally incompetent.”  
    Crowley looked back and forth between the two men in incredulity. “I’m right here you ignorant bastards!” he roared.  
    “Shut-up Crowley,” Dean said.

     Sam and Dean stood just outside the door of the dungeon, quietly discussing what Crowley had just told them. Castiel was packing Dean’s duffel for him.  
    “Do you trust him?” Sam asked.  
    “ _Of course_ I don’t trust him,” Dean answered. “But it makes sense right? You find anythin' helpful?”  
    “That’s just it man, there’s _nothing_. No mention of Cain or the First Blade anywhere. It’s weird. I checked online, and through all of the literature I could find. There’s plenty of lore, but no hard facts. The Men of Letters kept pretty good records Dean, but even they’ve got nothing.” Sam looked at his brother, “You really need to take him with you?”  
    “Guess so. The Devil’s ridin; shot-gun on this one Sammy. I’ve got no choice do I?”  
    “I s’pose…”  
    “He knows where to go Sam, and he’s not talkin' unless he comes with.”  
    “Don’t let him outta your sight Dean, he’s a slimy bastard, He’ll give you the slip if he gets a chance.”  
    “Don’t worry man, I got it.”  
    Sam shook his head. “Glad I’m not going though. You and Cas are bad enough, but Crowley too?” he exhaled in relief. “Besides, I hate Las Vegas.”  
    Dean’s mouth dropped open in shock. “ _Dude_ , sacrilege! _Nobody_ hates Vegas! You know there’s a town there called Winchester right? Besides, it’s a rite of passage Sammy. Sin City. Booze, food, dancing girls,” he sighed happily. “What more could a guy want?”  
    Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother, “Dancing girls?”  
    “Dancing girls.” Dean stated firmly. “Just 'cause Cas and I are…”  
    “Bumping uglies?”  
    “ _Dude_!”  
    Sam snorted. “Well?”  
    “Yeah, well. Just 'cause we are, _whatever_ , doesn’t mean I don’t like dancing girls. I mean Sammy! _Vegas_!”  
    “So what? You’re bi now?”  
    “ _Jesus_ Sam. Shut-up will ya? I'm not anythin' ok? Cas isn't technically a man anyway."  
    "So you're what? 'Knocking on Heaven's Door'? 'Livin' on a prayer'? 'Climbing a Stairway to Heaven'?" Sam roared laughter, doubling over and resting on his knees, "Or maybe you're just on a 'Highway to Hell'?" He hiccuped, gasping to catch his breath.  
    "Dude, _really_? You're gonna ruin music for me too?"  
    "Man, I haven't even started." Sam grinned.  
    "Don’t wreck it for me Sammy,” Dean said seriously. "It's hard enough as it is."  
    Sam stopped, noting the look on his brother's face. He nodded. “Ok. Promise I’ll never mention it again. On one condition.”  
    “What’s that?”  
    “You stop saying Vegas.”  
    Dean grinned. “Viva… Viva… Las Vegas…!” he sang.  
    Sam shook his head at his brother, grinning. Then, switching subjects he asked, “It’s a long drive Dean. How are you going to make sure Crowley doesn’t split?”  
    Dean smirked, “I’ve gotta plan,” he said, eyes sparking. “He can come with. But he doesn’t have to like _how_. Going to Vegas baby!” he declared happily.  
    Sam groaned.

    “Get in.” Dean stood at the back of the Impala with Crowley, and jerked his thumb impatiently towards the boot.  
    “What?!” Crowley looked at the older Winchester in disbelief. “In there?”  
    “Lump it Crowley,” Dean growled, “You wanna come? Fine. You can come. But you don’t get to complain about the seatin' arrangements.”  
    The Demon stalled, frantically trying to talk his way out of his current predicament. “Where’s Rapunzel?” He asked, “Why isn’t she joining us on this little family vacation? Or are you two planning to elope?” He nodded towards Castiel, already sitting in the front seat, happily going through Dean’s box of cassettes.  
    Dean grabbed Crowley by the back of the neck. Pulling him eye to eye he ground out, “Never. Talk to me. About Castiel. Again.” He let him go abruptly, shoving him toward the Impala’s boot. “Get. In.” he ordered.  
    Crowley stumbled up against the bumper, “I’ll be good,” he wheedled. “I’ll keep the insults to a dull roar, and I’ll even listen to your atrocious music without judging. Besides, I have these.” He held up his hands, jangling the cuffs in Dean’s face. Dean swatted them away. “Come on… What can I possibly do while I’m wearing these bloody things?” he questioned.  
    “I dunno,” Dean snapped. “And I’m not takin' any chances on findin' out. In.”  
    "I won't even laugh at you and the trench coat dream-boat making 'my prreeeccious' faces at each other," Crowley tried.  
    "Crowley,' Dean growled threateningly.  
    “Fine,” the Demon retorted. “But the minute I’m free of you lot, you’re going to wish this didn’t happen.”  
    “I already do.”  
    “I need a bath,” Crowley muttered, climbing awkwardly into the boot. Not able to use his hands properly, he was off-balance, and couldn’t get both legs in before tilting comically to one side.  
    The hunter shoved him the rest of the way in, cracking his skull on the latch. Crowley yelped.  
    “Yeah, so do we.” Slamming the lid shut, Dean wiped his palms on his jeans. “Sorry baby,” he crooned, polishing off the Impala’s bumper with his sleeve, “I’ll make it up to you.” Giving the car a last satisfied swipe, he headed to the driver’s door and climbed in.  
    Castiel turned to him as he cranked the car, caressing the steering wheel and beaming in satisfaction as the Impala purred to a start.  
    “Sometimes I do not know who you love more Dean,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Me or your car.”  
    “No contest Cas,” Dean grinned cheekily. “Baby wins every time.”  
    He grabbed the Angel’s hand, pulling it into his lap. “Vegas here we come!”

    Dean looked around the lobby in wonder. There was food _everywhere_. Small bags of chocolates hung from the walls; a huge cheese platter sat on the sideboard, surrounded by deli meats and crackers, and tiny bowls of nuts were grouped in the middle of the coffee tables in the lobby. There was even a chocolate fountain in the buffet area.  
    “Cas,” he called, “C’mon dude. You don’t wanna miss any of this.”  
    Castiel followed behind the hunter, smiling at Dean’s delight as he wandered around the lobby, peering into the Casino, and checking out the noticeboard. “Hey, Crossroads is playin',” he grinned. “Ever seen a live band Cas?”  
    Castiel shook his head. “I have not really had occasion.”  
    “Well let’s make one. You’ll love it.”  
    Heading into reception, Dean spotted an enormous bowl of fruit sitting on the check-in area, so overfilled it spilled over onto the desk.  
    “This. Is. _Awesome_.” he said, reaching for a piece of fruit and biting into it with gusto. He scanned the room happily. “This is… this is plastic.” he choked, spitting his mouthful into his hand and scrubbing frantically at his tongue.  
    Castiel burst out laughing, “It serves you right,” he snorted, “you were asking for that.”  
    “What?” Dean spluttered, looking around for a bin. “What’d I do?” Not finding one, he sidled up to the nearest pot-plant, dropping the mess in his hand into the planter.  
    “Dean!”  
    “What?” Dean grinned innocently, wiping his palm off on the leaves.  
    Castiel shook his head, smiling fondly at the hunter. “Are you going to check us in?”  
    “Yeah. I’ll grab the rooms, you grab the Demon. Meet you back here in 5?”  
    “Sure.”  
    Dean sauntered up to reception, grinning broadly at the attractive woman behind the desk.  
    “Checking in Sir?” she smiled.  
    “Yeah.”  
    “How many rooms?”  
    Crap. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Ummm… Three. No, two... No, wait,” he stammered, thinking of Crowley. “One, yeah. Definitely one.”  
    “How many in your party?”  
    “Three.”  
    The receptionist smiled and winked, “So a big bed then?” she grinned, eyes sparkling.  
   “No! Three _men_. Dudes. I mean, there’s three of us. And we’re all dudes. I…”  
    “Would you prefer a suite then Sir?”  
   “Yeah,” Dean groaned, “Thanks. That’d be great.”  
    “Good then. May I have your credit card?”  
    Dean exhaled heavily, grabbing a random card out of his wallet.  
    She checked him in quickly, giving him three pass-cards, and a handful of chips for the casino.  
    “On the house.”  
    “Thanks.”  
    “Oh and Mr… Sambora...?” She said, squinting at the name on his card as she handed it back. “I get off at 9.” She winked.  
    “Oh. Sure. Thanks.” Turning away hurriedly, Dean nearly knocked over Crowley in his haste.  
    “Steady on!”  
    “Shut it Crowley.” Dean mumbled, embarrassed.

    They got settled, Dean doing a quick survey of the rooms and bathroom before letting the others in.  
    Castiel excused himself immediately, saying he needed to lie down. Considering the Angel didn’t need sleep, Dean figured he just didn’t want to be around Crowley. He didn’t blame him.  
    “I, for one, need sleep," Dean announced, yawning. "At least 4 hours.”  
    “So what do I do?” Crowley asked. “Just sit here and photosynthesize?”  
    “First. I'm gonna handcuff you to the bed.”  
    The Demon winked, “Kinky.”  
    “And second,” Dean went on, ignoring him, “I don’t give a rat’s ass.”  
    He grabbed Crowley’s arm, frog-marching him into the smallest bedroom. Wrapping a second pair of warded shackles around one of the Demon’s wrists, he undid the first cuff and secured both wrists to opposite corners of the headboard, then tied his feet to the footer with rope. Then, having learned the hard way not to take any chances, he drew a quick Devil’s trap on the floor, salting the windows and doorway as he left.  
    “Aww… Come on Zoolander. No gambling? No depravity? No fun at all?! I’m the King of Hell!” the Demon bellowed, “And I’m in Sin City. You’re just going to leave me here, tied to a bed? You’re not even gonna get me a whore?!” he roared.  
    “Here,” Dean stuck his head back in the room, tossing the the TV remote at the Demon’s feet. “Watch some TV,” he sniggered, slamming the door behind him.  
    “You _twat_!”

     “Crowley is secure?” Castiel lay on the bed, his arms behind his head. His trench coat, belt and tie were thrown over a chair and his shirt was partway undone. He was obviously trying to appear relaxed, but Dean could tell he was anxious.  
    He stopped in the doorway, eyes raking over Castiel’s chest. “Yeah.”  
    Cas lowered his arms, patting the bed beside him. “Come here then.”  
    Shutting the door behind him, Dean shrugged off his jacket, tossing it in the general direction of the chair, not bothering to check where it landed. He strolled forward, unhooking his belt and sending it flying after the jacket. Mesmerized by the tenderness in his Angel’s eyes, he climbed on the bed, stretching out beside Castiel, and rolled onto his side, facing him.  
    Cas turned toward Dean, scooting closer and propping himself up on one elbow. Reaching out, he carded his fingers through the hunter’s hair, idly playing with a stray lock. “Are you worried about tomorrow?” he asked.  
    “Yeah Cas. This is big. The first murderer, the First Blade. It’s…” he trailed off.  
    “Big,” Castiel finished, smiling.  
    “Yeah.” Dean let his head fall into the crook of one arm. The other played with the loose buttons on Castiel’s shirt.  
    “How do you want to handle it then?” Cas asked. “I could come with you? Just in case?”  
    “Thanks Cas, but no. I have to do this one alone.”  
    “Why?”  
    “I dunno. I just feel like… This is something I gotta do. Just me.”  
    “And Crowley.”  
    Dean sighed, “Yeah. Unfortunately.” He frowned, then grinned playfully at the Angel, lightly flicking his shirt. “You’re not jealous are you?”  
    “No, Dean. I am not jealous. Just worried.”  
    Dean studied the Angel and tried again. “Y’know that receptionist downstairs? She gets off at 9 tonight. She made a – _point_ – of tellin' me.” He studied Castiel closely.  
    “That’s nice for her,” the Angel mused innocently, twirling the lock of Dean’s hair around his finger. “She must be tired.”  
    Dean burst out laughing. “Dammit Cas… You take all the fun out of teasin' you, y’know that?” he pouted.  
    Castiel seemed to finally get what his lover was trying to do. “I am sorry Dean. This is all so new to me. I still have trouble with human… innuendo, banter. I do not understand…” He tilted his head to the side adorably, making Dean laugh more.  
    “Don’t stress Cas. I’m still learnin' 'bout you too.”  
    Castiel withdrew his hand, raking his fingers through his own untidy locks. “But tomorrow Dean? You will be ok?”  
    “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”  
    “I always worry about you.”  
    “I know.” Dean grinned. “Anyway… I don’t _really_ wanna talk about that now.” He scooted closer, their thighs barely touching.  
    Cas froze, his hand dropping from Dean's hair to rest on his hip. “So what do you want to do?” he whispered, lost in his hunter’s twinkling green eyes.  
    “This.”  
    Dean reached out, gently cupping his Angel’s cheek. He trailed his fingers across his jaw, marveling in the contrast between the softness of his skin, and the rasp of his stubble. Running his thumb across Cas’ full bottom lip, he gently pulled it down, exposing the tender flesh inside. He paused briefly, then quickly dipped the thumb inside, grazing his bottom teeth and watching as the Angel’s pupils dilated with pleasure. Withdrawing and putting it to his own lips, he gazed deep into Castiel’s eyes as he tasted the moisture there.  
    Castiel shivered. _How could something so simple be so dammed erotic?_ He reached out shyly, trying to imitate the tender way the hunter had touched him, trailing his fingers across Dean’s collarbone; delighted when he saw his eyes drift closed. Leaning forward, he trailed tiny butterfly kisses along Dean's cheekbone to his ear, “Open your eyes Dean,” he whispered. “I want to see you.”  
    Dean sighed, his eyes fluttering open. He gazed into Castiel’s sapphire-blue eyes, drowning in his gaze; the Angel reached over, smoothly and easily lifting the hunter onto his chest.  
    Their lips came together hesitantly at first, noses bumping and teeth scraping slightly. It didn't take long however for them to gather their rhythm, instinctively finding the spot where they fit like puzzle pieces as if they were made for one another and no one else. They kissed languorously, tongues dancing; inhaling each others sighs as if only the others breath could sustain them. Dean shifted so he lay partly on Castiel’s chest, partly on the bed. Supporting most of his weight on his elbows, he slid one leg over Cas’ thigh, resting his calf between his Angel's knees.  
    Eventually Dean sighed, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn into his lover’s mouth.  
    Cas smiled against his lips, “You are tired, aren’t you?” he whispered, his tongue flicking against the hunter’s full lower lip as he spoke.  
    Unable to stop himself, Dean yawned again. “Sorry Cas, but yeah. I’m exhausted.” With a last gentle kiss, he shifted, letting his head fall against Castiel’s chest.  
    “Then go to sleep Dean, I will watch over you.”  
    “I know you will Cas,” Dean mumbled sleepily, curling into the Angel’s side, leg still thrown across him possessively. He was asleep instantly.  
    Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around his hunter, gathering him close. Gazing adoringly at him in the gloom, he whispered to himself. “Sleep Dean, tomorrow we hunt the Father of Murder.”

 


	6. Ink

    The door flew open and Dean stumbled into the room, supported heavily by a loudly complaining Crowley. Castiel looked up from his book with a start, dropping it to the floor as soon as he saw them and racing across the room to snatch the hunter away from the Demon.  
    “What did you do to him?” he demanded.  
    Crowley tripped through the doorway, caught off balance by the Angel’s sudden grab at the eldest Winchester. “I didn’t do anything Hot-Wings,” he snapped, slamming the door closed. “This one’s all on him.”  
    Dean groaned, looking down at Castiel through swollen eyes and trying valiantly to smile at his Angel, his full lips split and bloodied. “Hey Cas,” he said, wincing.  
    Castiel led the hunter to the nearest chair and cautiously sat him down, glaring back over his shoulder at Crowley. “You stay there,” he ordered. “As for you…” He reached out, gently touching two fingers to Dean’s temple. Light flared briefly as Dean’s wounds were healed instantly. “You owe me an explanation.”  
    Dean sighed in relief, cracking his neck experimentally and immediately leaped out of the chair. He bounced on the balls of his feet briefly, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his hands. He dropped a quick kiss on the Angel's forehead. “Thanks.”  
    “Always.” Castiel smiled, gazing fondly at his hunter. Then he turned and started towards Crowley, scowling dangerously. “ _Tell me what happened,_ ” he demanded. “ _Now_.”  
    Dean reached out, pulling him up with a gentle hand on his arm. “Cas,” he said quietly, “It wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”  
    Castiel turned, watching Dean as he shuffled his feet adorably, looking down at the floor. “Dean Winchester what did you do now?”  
    Dean grinned cheekily, “You sound like my Mom.”  
    “I am most definitely not your mother Dean.” Castiel stated firmly.  
    “No,” the hunter murmured, gazing into bottomless blue eyes. “You’re not.”  
    “Vomit.” Crowley stalked across the room and helped himself to a drink at the bar. “If you two are quite finished eye-sexing each other, I’d like to get outta here. As soon as possible if you don’t mind.”  
    Castiel turned to look at the Demon, “What are you even still doing here?” he asked. “You are not presently shackled, I would have assumed you would leave the instant the opportunity presented itself.”  
    “Ask him,” Crowley took a slug of his drink and jerked his chin toward Dean. “He’s got all the answers.”  
    “Dean?” Castiel turned questioning eyes upon his lover.  
    “We got it Cas. We got the First Blade.” He stared into worried blue eyes. “But there was a… catch.”  
    “There is _always_ a catch, Dean. What is it this time?”  
    The hunter shrugged off his jacked, dropping it on the floor beside him and tugged up his shirt exposing his right forearm. “This.”  
    Castiel reacted immediately and shockingly, recoiling away from Dean and almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. “The Mark.” he whispered, horrified. He looked at the hunter, visibly shaken. “Dean? What...”  
    “I had to Cas.” Dean spoke quietly, moving to take Castiel’s hand. “The Blade won’t work without it. And Crowley is a Demon, so…”  
    “He cannot bear it.”  
    “Yeah.”  
    Castiel searched the hunter’s face, looking for… What? Changes? Surely the Mark would not have begun to affect him yet? He shook his head, desperately trying to clear millennia old memories that had begun to crowd his mind. “How do you feel Dean?” he questioned worriedly.  
    “I’m fine,” Dean said, rather unconvincingly Castiel thought, “I feel fine, Cas.”  
    “Well this is all very touching,” Crowley interrupted, “But if it’s all the same to you lovers, I’d like to get the hell outta here. Sooner rather than later, please. Those Demons at Cain’s house were the bitch’s minions, and I’d prefer to be well away from here before she comes a-knocking. At least until we can figure out our next move.”  
    “Shut up Crowley.” Dean and Castiel spoke in unison.  
    “Great,” the Demon mumbled in disgust, “Now they’re speaking in harmony. Next it’ll be karaoke duets, matching outfits and his-and-his bathrobes.”  
    “Shut up Crowley.” They said again.  
    Crowley snorted.

    The ride back to the bunker was tense. Crowley – safely re-shackled – sat in the back seat lost in his own world and humming show-tunes softly to himself. Castiel watched Dean out of the corner of his eye as he drove, searching for changes in his mannerisms and behavior.  
    “I can see you Cas,” Dean said quietly. “What’s with all the starin'?”  
    “It is nothing Dean. I… How do you feel?” he asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.  
    “I’m fine dude.” Dean assured him again. “Why?”  
    “It is nothing,” Castiel repeated looking at the road ahead. Then hesitantly, “Only…”  
    “Spit it out man,” Dean said, exasperated. “It’s not like you to be so cagey, well, not lately anyway.”  
    The Angel flushed, looking over at the smirking hunter. He smiled, then let the smile slip slowly from his face. “The Mark,” he said quietly. “It is purported to have certain… side-effects.”  
    “Yeah? Like what?”  
    “Changes in thought patterns, mood-swings and cycling emotions to begin with.”  
    “So I’m gonna turn into a teenage girl? Awesome.” He glanced at Castiel, only to find him studying him worriedly. Realizing the Angel was deadly serious, he reached over and took his hand, threading their fingers together and pulling it into his lap.  
    “What else Cas?” he asked quietly.  
    “Anger. Aggression. Blind rage. Overpowering urges to maim and torture that cannot be dispelled until they are sated. An uncontrollable killer-instinct, driving you to murder in exceedingly cruel and violent ways. And it will only get worse.”  
    “Jesus Cas. Don’t sugar-coat it will you?” Dean glanced into the rear-view mirror to see Crowley watching them intently. “Did you know about this?”  
    The Demon shrugged but said nothing.  
    “I suspect the Abomination has been thoroughly acquainted with the repercussions surrounding your acceptance of the Mark of Cain from the outset.”  
    "Then... Wait, what? Cas, speak _English_ man."  
    "I am not speaking Enochian Dean. I am sure you understood every word."  
    The hunter sighed, frustrated. "Yeah, but not when you string 'em all together like that," he snapped. "Bring it down to _my_ level Cas."  
    "You are not stupid Dean," the Angel said gently. "In fact you are quite brilliant."  
    "Yeah, thanks man." It was crap like this that made Dean remember how different he and Cas were. He glanced down at the slender fingers entwined in his, hands still resting in his lap, and wondered again what the _bloody hell_ he was doing with the Angel. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes briefly, desperately resisting the urge to tuck-and-roll out of the moving car and bolt in the opposite direction, screaming like a girl.  
    "I'm sure he knew," Castiel said quietly.  
    “Right, ok. So why didn’t he say anythin'?”  
    “I am certain he has his reasons, of which he will reveal only when it suits his purpose.”  
    “I’m sure he will,” Dean muttered dangerously.  
    They spent the rest of the trip in silence. Each caught up in their own thoughts of what was likely to happen next.

    Dean slammed the bunker door open, shouting for his younger brother. “Sam?! Where're you?”  
    Sam looked up from his laptop and scanned his brother, taking note of the tense set of his shoulders and the way his jaw ground back and forth agitatedly. “I’m here,” he called, “Show me.”  
    Castiel had called hours ago from the car, anxiously explaining to the younger Winchester about the Mark of Cain, and its necessity in being able to wield The First Blade; and begging Sam to find out everything he could. Unfortunately, so far he’d come up with bupkis. Even scouring the archives yielded no results. With nothing concrete to go on, the Mark was a mystery, with only vague mentions throughout history and – beyond the Bible – nothing written about it at all aside from cheesy sci-fi novels and bizarre movies with lots of bad special-effects. There was little to no lore, and no verifiable facts to be found. They were on their own. _Again_.  
    Dean stomped down the stairs, dragging a stumbling Crowley behind him, and – dumping his duffel on the table – shoved the Demon at Sam. Castiel followed passively behind the duo.  
    “Lock that up,” he growled. “And make sure it’s uncomfortable.”  
    “Steady on,” Crowley said. “I’m the one that found you that bloody Blade you know.”  
    “Shut your damn trap, you ass.” Dean snarled, “Or I’ll shut it for you. Permanently.” He marched over to the bar and poured himself a large drink which he downed with one gulp, then poured another. Slamming the glass down on the table, he turned on Sam, glaring at him when he saw that his brother hadn’t moved. “Sam…” he growled threateningly.  
    “Jesus man, get a grip. I’m goin'.” Standing rapidly, he grabbed the Demon’s elbow, dragging him off toward the dungeon.  
    Castiel stood by the table, watching Dean with worried eyes.  
    “What, Cas?”  
    “It has begun.” Castiel said ominously.  
    “ _What_ has begun?” Dean snapped, picking up his glass and taking another swig.  
    “The Mark is beginning to change you already.” Castiel said despairingly. “It is only a matter of time now until it achieves its purpose and you are altered irrevocably.” He gazed at the hunter sadly. “Dean-”  
    Dean abruptly clenched his fist, shattering the crystal tumbler in his hand and sending glass and alcohol everywhere. The pain cleared the red haze behind his eyes and he looked down at his hand numbly, watching drops of blood bead up between the slivers of glass embedded in his palm and spiral slowly down his wrist. He looked back up at Cas with worried eyes. “Cas?” he whispered, “What’s happenin' to me?”  
    Castiel flew across the room, his arms enveloping the hunter, cradling his dark head into the hollow of his neck. Holding him tight, he crooned, “It _will_ be alright Dean, you will see. We will work this out. We always do.” Murmuring reassurances, he kept his arms tightly about the hunter as he gently led him off towards the bedroom.

    “The Mark is changing him Sam.” Castiel paced the bunker restlessly, picking up random objects, then discarding them immediately only to move on to the next item and repeat the process.  
    Sam sat, legs crossed on the tabletop, his laptop balanced on his thighs. He watched, fascinated, as the Angel paced the room in ever-widening circles; he had never seen him so agitated.  
    “Cas, man. Stop. You’re making me dizzy. Sit down.”  
    “I cannot stop. I…” Castiel exhaled loudly and deflated before Sam’s eyes, slumping into the chair next to the younger Winchester and dropping his tousled head into his hands. “I am… I am…” he struggled.  
    “Worried about him. So am I.”  
    “He is not himself Sam, he is… unthinking. Cruel. Why just last night he was… he was... rough, punishing. He did things-”  
    “ _Stop_!” Sam screeched, covering his ears with his hands. “TMI man. I. do. not. need. to. hear. this. Castiel!” he enunciated, slowly and clearly. "Besides, I thought you and Dean hadn't... y'know."  
    “But Sam!” The Angel grabbed Sam’s hand, tugging it away from his head and yelling in his ear. “He is not normally like that! He is gentle, he worries more about me than himself." Quietening down he added, "And no, Sam. We have not yet had intercourse. I am sure your brother will inform you and indulge in a traditional male bonding session when we do.”  
    Sam winced, his ears ringing from the frantic Angel’s outburst. Groaning, he shook his head wildly, trying desperately to rid himself of the images that had started to form unbidden in his overactive imagination. Monsters trying to kill him he could handle without breaking sweat. A lifetime in the cage with Lucifer? He’d take two. Descriptions of his brother's love life with the Angel? Kill him, kill him now. “Soap,” he muttered grimly, “I need soap. And booze. A _lot_ of booze.”  
    “ _I do not know what to do!_ ” Castiel cried, flinging Sam’s hand at him. “I cannot help him this time Sam! If I could take the Mark away… take it for him, I would do it in a heartbeat. But…”  
    “You can’t Cas,” Sam said quietly. “No one can. Dean has to do this on his own.”  
    “But it is too much! Too much for any man to bear! And your brother-“  
    “My _brother_ is _strong_. He is the strongest man – the strongest _person_ – I know. If anyone can bear this Cas, it’s Dean. Listen, on his say-so and against my better judgement, I might add, we let Crowley go so he can search for Abaddon. He’s going to get in touch as soon as he finds her. And when he does, Dean will gank the hell-bitch and send her straight back where she came from, and this’ll all be over. You two can go back to being nauseously happy, and everything will be back to normal. Whatever _that_ is.” he added.  
    “But he’ll still have the Mark,” the Angel fretted.  
    “I know, Cas. But I made a deal with Crowley for him to take the First Blade afterwards and get rid of it. It’s no good to anyone else anyway. No Blade. No murderous rages. Everyone wins.”  
    Castiel looked at Sam in shock. “You made a deal?”  
    Sam sighed, “Not _that_ kinda deal Castiel. Christ, I forget what an ignorant bastard you are sometimes,” he muttered. “A… bargain, you could say. A promise that you’ll do something for someone else without expecting anything in return.”  
    “Like I do for Dean.” Cas nodded, understanding.  
    “Yeah, well. Look, everything will be fine Cas.”  
    “I hope you are right.” Castiel whispered. “I want my hunter back.”  
    “And I want my brother back.”  
    They were silent for a moment, each reflecting on their own thoughts. Castiel sat quietly, for all the world looking like a statue of the Angel he was.  
    Sam watched him, noting the stress lines around the Angel’s eyes, his drawn features. _He’s really worried_ , he thought. “Look, why don’t you go check on him,” he said gently, “Where is he anyway?”  
    “He’s asleep. He doesn’t get much rest these days. Nightmares.”  
    “Yeah well why don’t you, I dunno, go be all stalkerish, watch him, or whatever it is you do when he sleeps.” _Just leave me alone._ He’d had enough of the Angel’s fussing, he’d been at Sam for days. _He never used to be like this_ , Sam mused, _it’s only been since he and Dean shacked up_. Sam sighed, he wasn’t sleeping properly himself and he was wrecked. Not being able to find anything about the Mark of Cain or the First Blade, along with his own worry for his brother and Castiel’s escalating panic was all wearing on him. “I need to get some work done anyway.”  
    Cas stood, nodding curtly at Sam, and headed off in the direction of his brothers room, his ever-present trench-coat billowing out behind him.  
    _I wonder if he takes that thing off during_ … Sam shook his head violently. Damn Castiel, now he’d never sleep. Ever.

 

    Two short weeks had passed since that conversation, fourteen tiny, insignificant days. The sun had risen and set, the tides had come and gone, and Justin Bieber was still a twat.  
    For all that sameness, the world of the Winchester brothers and the renegade Angel had ground to a halt with an abruptness that was as shocking as it was final. The Men of Letters bunker was eerily quiet. Moths fluttered happily amongst the old parchments, and a tap dripped hypnotically in one of the bathrooms. A cluster of dust mites floated lazily in the still air, and a small Brown Recluse spider picked its way cautiously across the ceiling, eventually settling in to spin its web busily in a forgotten corner.

     Sam sat in the same chair he had sat in just days ago, at the same huge table, in the center of the same room; his booted feet resting in the same spot on the tabletop. Head in his hands, he thought back over the past few weeks in disbelief.  
     After the successful hunt, and subsequent ganking of Abaddon, everyone had been in party mood. They hit the nearest bar where they all got stupid drunk. Even Castiel. It had cost the Winchesters a fortune, and Dean had to hustle pool most of the night to keep up with him, but the sight of the Angel singing bad karaoke and stumbling around telling everyone he was a ‘real’ Angel, but that his wings were invisible, made everyone laugh until their sides hurt. Dean seemed back to normal; well as normal as he got anyway, and watched the Angel with fond, if somewhat blurry eyes. Charlie had come with, and spent the entire night chatting up the cute bar girl, going home with her at the end of the night and shouting, “Peace out bitches!” as she left, happily grabbing the girl’s ass as the two left the bar.  
    Sam was happy that night. His brother seemed fine, and Castiel had stopped moping about the bunker, mumbling under his breath and looking like the world was going to end. _Again_. But now, two short weeks later, everything had changed. Drastically.  
  
    They had found Metatron, and he and Dean had got into it, the battle taking a deadly turn. Sam had come upon the fight just in time to see the scribe plunge an Angel blade straight into his brother’s chest. He had knocked Metatron out, and fallen to his knees by Dean’s side, taking him into his arms and pleading with his brother to _please hold on! just a little longer._ Just until he could get help. Until Cas could come and heal him. _Please Dean_. For Sam. For Castiel. For him-bloody-self for Christ’s sake! He had threatened and begged, and prayed for help. But in the end, none of it mattered. His big brother had smiled up at him, called him a bitch, and died in his arms.  
    Sam Winchester never cried, that was Dean’s thing. But sitting on the cold concrete, he had rocked his big brother in his arms like a baby and sobbed, huge tears coursing unchecked down his face as he clutched Dean to his chest and called out brokenly for help. Praying to Castiel, to _anyone_ , to come and bring his brother back to him.  
    But no-one came, and Cas was nowhere to be found. He had gone missing the night before, sparking Dean’s rage-fueled rampage and his eventual tracking down of Metatron. The brothers had initially gone after him together, but at the last minute, Dean had knocked Sam out and gone after the scribe alone.  
    After what seemed like a lifetime, Sam had stumbled to his feet, cradling his brother in his huge arms and carrying him to his beloved Impala where he laid him reverently on the back seat, propping a jacket gently under his head. He drove to the bunker on auto-pilot, parking half on the curb, then gathered up his brother and laid him out on his bed, being oh-so-careful to make sure that he was comfortable, and warm. He had left him there, shutting off the light, and made his way to the dungeon where he prepared a summoning spell, yelling hoarsely for Crowley, alternately threatening and pleading for the Demon to come so he could make a deal, _anything!_ for Dean’s life. He didn’t care how, or what he had to bargain away, just bring his damn brother back.  
    But Crowley never showed, and instead Cas had appeared, tilting his head silently at him. Sam had thrown himself at the Angel, blubbering incoherently and begging the Angel to _fix_ _him! save him!_ Castiel had vanished, leaving Sam to race alone through the halls, skidding around corners and smashing into walls in his haste to get to his brother’s bedroom. When he reached the room, he almost barreled into Castiel, who was kneeling prostrate beside Dean’s bed, head bowed. For a stupid moment, Sam thought the Angel was praying, then he realized that Dean wasn’t where he had left him. He looked around, expecting to see his brother grinning at him and preparing some colorful insult involving cry-baby pie and asking if he needed his nappy changed, but Dean was nowhere in the room.  
    He looked at Castiel uncomprehendingly, still on his knees beside the bed, shoulders hunched and shaking.  
    “What…?”  
    Castiel looked up at him, his blue eyes brimming, shattered heart exposed for Sam to see. “I’m too late Sam,” he whispered brokenly. “He’s gone.”

    

    In the weeks since Dean had disappeared from the bunker, there had been sightings. They had put the word out amongst the hunter network, and reports were trickling in of Dean having been seen. At a bar. In a convenience store. On a side street behind a strip club. They were all unconfirmed until all of a sudden they weren’t, and unexpectedly they had their proof in the form of a grainy video from a gas station security camera.

    Dean was, incredibly, alive.

 

    That was the last news they had had. Sam went nuts, capturing and interrogating every person or _thing_ he could get his hands on. Human or monster, it was all the same to him. _Somebody_ knew what was going on with Dean. They _had_ to. But, earlier that day, he had exhausted all possible leads, and now he sat, desperately trying to figure out his next move. He sighed, and heaved his gangly body slowly to his feet. He tugged at his jeans, hiking them up for what felt like the millionth time that day. He had lost weight, and his pants kept threatening to go south every time he moved. He wondered idly if he should buy a belt, but as soon as the thought came into his head, it disappeared, leaving his mind blank of all but one thought, his brother. He was tired, exhausted actually. He hadn’t slept for days, and his mind was playing tricks on him. He kept thinking he could hear Dean’s voice, kept seeing his brother disappearing around corners. He was like a ghost in Sam’s mind that he couldn’t exorcise no matter how many times he salted and burned the remains. He needed sleep, he was no good to anyone like this. He drifted off toward his bedroom, not noticing Castiel hovering behind a pillar, watching him silently.

    Castiel waited until the bunker had quietened before flitting briefly into Sam's room, then slipping into the night. He would have transported himself directly to his destination, but his stolen Grace was waning rapidly, and he needed to save himself for what lay ahead. Besides, he wanted the time to think. He walked several miles before veering into a shopping center parking lot and searching the parked cars for one that was unlocked. Murmuring apologies to the absent owner, he climbed in and touched the ignition, the vehicle immediately humming to life under his hand. He settled his supplies on the passenger seat and, in painful remembrance, secured his seat-belt. Dean had always insisted on the safety measure, ignoring the fact that Castiel could not be harmed in any human vehicle accident.  
    He turned on the radio, switching to a classic rock station, smiling wistfully as a song he recognized as one of Dean’s favorites came on. Pulling out into the deserted street, he drove slowly off toward his destination.

    Sam woke with a start, nightmares crashing through his brain as he was wrenched out of a deep sleep. He stilled, eyes closed, listening intently in the darkness, ears attuned to the noises the bunker made. He slowly opened his eyes, all his senses keenly alert for the noise that had woken him. Reaching under his pillow, he grabbed his gun, and warily came to his feet, methodically searching the space around him. The room was empty, but there was a slight disturbance in the air, as if something had just been in the room, and left silently. Scanning the furniture, his eyes eventually came to rest on the desktop, where he spied a single piece of paper sitting on the corner, fluttering slightly as if having just been placed. Looking around warily, Sam made his way slowly to the desk. Flicking on the lamp and snatching up the paper, he silently read the five words printed in childish scrawl in the middle.  
 _‘_ _I will save him Sam.’_      
    “Dammit Cas,” he muttered, crumpling the paper into his clenched fist, “What have you done?”

 

    Castiel took the small box loaded with his picture, a blurry one that he had clumsily taken earlier with his phone and gotten developed at an all-night-drugstore he’d passed on his way; added grave-dirt and various other items, and buried it at the apex of the crossroads. He had brought several items with him from the bunker along with the box. Holy-water – of course – a shotgun filled with rock-salt rounds, and he had stolen Sam’s Demon hunting knife; he didn’t think the younger Winchester would mind. He had also brought his Angel blade and extra salt; just in case. The Angel wasn't sure if his offering would be accepted, he only had one thing to bargain with, but he would give it up gladly if he could just have his hunter back in his arms, where he belonged. He didn't know what to expect, he’d never done this after all, so he went about the ritual logically, his military training instinctively kicking in. He carved a huge devils trap into the dirt with Sam’s knife, the edges curving against the points of the crossroads, then returned to the middle, and standing directly in the center, pivoted slowly, scanning each point of the map methodically. North… East… South… West… He searched them all equally carefully, one-by-one, then turned, starting all over again.

    “Come on,” he murmured.

     

__________________________________________________________________________________

     

    “Well if it isn’t Humanity’s Avenger himself."  
    Castiel jumped, then turned slowly towards the crossroads Demon, practicing his speech rapidly in his mind. Head bowed, he stared fixedly at the Demon’s feet, not yet ready to fully reveal his despair and shame to the creature before him lest it take advantage of his desperation. Eventually looking up, he slowly cast his gaze upon the thing that stood mere feet away. Blinking rapidly, he haltingly ran his eyes up the figure before him. Taught calves, muscled thighs, narrow hips. A tight shirt rising slightly to show a hint of sculpted abs, thickly corded shoulders, chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose… And green, green eyes. He lurched backwards in shock, then, hand instinctively reaching out, took a tentative step forward, then another, nearly tripping over his own feet in astonishment.  
  
    “Hello Cas.”  
    “Dean? I… What are you doing here?”  
    The older Winchester blinked, his eyes flashing black.  
    Castiel jerked back, his breath catching.  
    “Oh God… Oh Dean… You are…”  
    “Yes Castiel, I’m the new King of the Crossroads.”


	7. Deals

    The Crossroads Demon that was Dean Winchester paced in a slow circle. He wandered around the edge of the carved Devil’s trap, studying it with a critical eye, then over to where Castiel had stacked his supplies, reviewing each item thoughtfully, reaching out to toe the shotgun with his boot.  
    He nodded appreciatively, “You did a good job Cas,” he allowed. “Couldn’t've done better myself.” He turned to face Castiel and started to clap slowly, his eyes never leaving the Angel’s face.  
    “I expected Sam,” he mused, stopping. “Comin' here and whinin' about wantin' his big brother back. Instead I get… _you_. What’s an Angel doing Sam’s dirty work for anyway?” he taunted. “You don’t even like him.”  
    “I like your brother well enough.” Castiel protested. Then softer, “He doesn’t even know I’m here.”  
    “Well look at you,” Dean teased sarcastically. “Got our big boy pants on do we?” He studied the Angel’s anxious face, then burst into sudden, unrestrained laughter, his head thrown back with abandon. Subsiding into chuckles, he grinned at Castiel, "You always did make me laugh Cas. I liked that about you.” He wiped his eyes, then sobering up abruptly, barked, “What do you want?"  
    "I want a deal."  
    "You’re no good to me." Dean snapped. "You don’t have a _soul_. What could you possibly offer me that would make any deal you have in mind worth my while?” he sneered.  
    “Me.” Castiel whispered, “I offer up myself. I offer you my eternal Grace. I will Fall and join you in the pit. Forever.”

     

    The Demon wearing Dean’s meat-suit studied the Angel, his green eyes roaming over determined features and messy hair. His gaze slipped lower, scanning the dirty trench coat and rumpled suit, gliding over narrow hips and taught thighs, eventually settling on his groin. Castiel’s breath hitched. The Demon’s gaze lingered for what felt like an eternity – and the Angel would know – then slid slowly upwards again, raking over his stomach and chest. Cas tensed, unsuccessfully trying not to let the scrutiny affect him. Dean smiled seductively and all at once Castiel couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t soulful green eyes.  
    "Let's talk," the Demon said. "What do you want Castiel?"  
    "Give Dean back."  
    “I am Dean. This is me now baby,” he slapped his chest, then spread his arms wide spinning in a slow circle; then leaned forward whispering conspiratorially, “Personally I like _this_ me better. No more crap, no more guilt. _‘Oh what am I gonna do, who should I save, oh I gotta look after my baby brother and keep the family business going’_ ,” he mocked. “This is heaps better. Freer.” He sauntered around Castiel, looking him up and down like a lamb for slaughter, slapping him on the ass as he passed behind him. Castiel jumped and spun to face him. “But your little offer,” Dean mused, tapping a forefinger on his chin, “Can’t say that don’t interest me Cas. I’ve missed you my tiny cherub. It'd be nice to have you waitin' around for me for when I get bored.”  
    “Give me Dean and you can have me.”  
    "Oh I know I can have you Cas, right here and now if I wanted to hey?"  
    Castiel flinched, his eyes closing.  
    The Demon stroked his chin, lost in thought. “I get an Angel’s Grace, and all I gotta do is give you the Winchester? Could be done. Hmmm… The possibilities are endless. This _is_ a Winchester we’re talkin' 'bout though. The brothers are hot commodities… But an _Angel_ …” The Demon nodded to himself, apparently making up his mind. “I’ll do it. Watchin' him get all tortured and tormented when he realizes what you’ve done? God... that would _almost_ be payment enough. But, y'know, rules and crap-”  
    “10 years correct?” Castiel cut in, “I get 10 years.”  
    “Oh no no no my little tree-topper. You know better than to think it's that easy. You’re a big prize y’know? Don’t think the Boss would wanna wait a decade for you.”  
    “How long?”  
    “I’ll give you six months,” he said thoughtfully.  
    “6 months? But I thought-”  
    “Take it or leave it.”  
    “But-”  
    “Six months of sweaty hands and stolen glances. Six months to do all the things that have been guiltily running through your dirty little minds for years – every time you gazed longingly into each others eyes – but never had the balls to act on. _Six. Whole. Months._ Then you’re all mine. C’mon Cas,” he coaxed, “Think of _all the things you can do_ in six months. After all those years of built up sexual tension? I’m sure you’ve got a few ideas.”  
    Cas chewed his bottom lip, furiously trying to think of a way to bargain more time.  
    “What’ve you got now? Unfulfilled promises and an empty bed? A scrapbook full of wistful memories?”  
    Still Castiel hesitated.  
    “Well…” Dean drawled, turning away. “If you don’t want it…”  
    “No!” Cas said hurriedly. “I… I…”  
    “ _I… I…_ ” Dean mocked. “You’ll what?” He turned toward the Angel, tilting his head as if listening to something only he could hear. “Come on Castiel. Your precious hunter is screamin' in here. I can hear him,” he goaded, grinning. “He’s swearin' at you, by the way,” he said conversationally. “Loudly and descriptively. Beggin' you not to do this. But you’re not listening, are you?” he taunted, studying the Angel. “I could offer you 24 hours and you’d agree, kissin' my feet in gratitude. You’re pathetic,” he spat. “So what’s it gonna be Castiel? Your boyfriend… Or your wounded pride?”  
    Castiel gazed for a long moment into green eyes. He thought about the past few painful, lonely weeks without Dean, then further back to the short time they had spent together. The best time of his long, _long_ existence. “I will take it. Now give him back.”  
    Dean grinned.  
  
  
    “So we have a deal?” They had just finished signing the contract. A massive, endless piece of paper that seemed to get longer as they went over it. It took forever, but Dean insisted, saying that _this_ deal had to be done properly. All the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. ‘ _Wouldn’t want you to find a way to wriggle out of it._ ’  
    Dean smirked, “That’s my job Castiel. Yes. We have a deal.”  
    “It’s done?”  
    “It’s done.”  
    “Right. So that is all then? Dean can come back now?”  
    “Not quite Cas,” Dean said, gliding closer, “There’s still the matter of your… _signing bonus_.”  
    He reached out, sliding his palms up Castiel’s biceps. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, desperately reminding himself that this was not the real Dean, _his_ Dean. The Demon ghosted his fingertips across Cas’ chest, dipping a forefinger into the opening of his shirt and lightly fingering the soft depression in his throat.  
    “Dean I…” Castiel forced out, opening his eyes and swallowing hard. “Is this really necessary?”  
    “Oh yeah Cas. _Very_ necessary. Gotta make it stick. Don’t worry,” he murmured, “It’s just a formality. It won’t take long.” He slipped close, melting against Castiel, their chests glued together, thighs fused. He rolled his hips, the button on his jeans catching on Cas’ own, crotches firmly aligned.  
    “Dean…”  
    “Shhh…” Dean slid a hand along Cas’ temple, silencing him, fingernails lightly grazing his scalp. Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed again and he moaned, shivering. His lips parted, his breathing quickening despite himself. Dean carded his fingers through Cas’ messy hair, grasping individual locks, lightly pulling, then releasing, only to start again somewhere else. It was maddening. The gentle tug, then release, tug… then release, Dean's hips swiveling distractingly against Castiel’s. It was driving Cas right to the edge and bringing him back, over and again. He wanted it to stop. He never wanted it to end.  
    _This is not your Dean_! He screamed silently, _this is a poor substitute, an abomination parading in his body_. His Dean would never do anything like this, was uncomfortable with any level of public intimacy. But Cas’ body wouldn’t listen, he had missed him _so much_ , and he was caught, helpless on a wave of almost forgotten desire so intense he felt as though he would explode again if it didn’t stop. Dean brought his fingers to Castiel’s cheek, his thumb grazing his jaw, flicking his thumbnail over his bottom lip and Cas moaned, the sound slipping out involuntarily. Dean moved his fingers up Castiel’s cheekbone and over the crease of his ear, dipping his finger lightly into the hollow there. Cas mmm’ed helplessly and his knees turned to jelly, nearly dumping him on the ground.  
    But Dean was there too. Smoothly sliding his arm inside Cas’ trench coat, he held him up as his other hand continued its exploration of Castiel’s ear, slipping down to tug at the lobe. Castiel wondered idly that ears could be so sensitive, his flushed and tingling. Dean leaned into Cas’ neck, his breath ghosting the tiny hairs where Castiel’s jaw met his ear.  
    “This is how you like it, isn’t it Cas?” he teased. Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, Dean’s lips so close to his now, so close, but still he held off, playful. He angled Cas’ face downward and gently blew on his eyelashes, making the Angel shiver. Dean’s lips brushed his eyelids, the barest contact, a mere suggestion of warmth before moving on. He ran his bottom lip down the side of Cas’ face, mouthing his eyelids, his cheekbone, his temple; grazing his jawline, to linger at the crease that ran alongside his lips. Cas tilted his head instinctively, and Dean chuckled, teasing a maddening path along the side of his throat, teeth grazing his collarbone. Cas’ breathing hitched, lips parting as he struggled to inhale. Dean lingered at the base of his throat, tongue flicking out to taste the hollow there, then drawing back to blow on the damp spot he had created. Castiel’s head fell back, Dean’s fingers still tangled in his hair, causing it to pull slightly.  
    “Oh and one more thing,” he whispered, “I'll be back in six months alright, but in your haste to get your lover back... I don't think you read the fine print property. Y'see I get your Grace now Castiel. And you spend the next six months human.” Dean pulled away and Castiel made a small sound of protest, his eyes snapping open in shock to gaze directly into Dean’s.  
    Dean’s _black_ eyes.  
    He chuckled hoarsely, and leaning down, captured Castiel’s lips.  
    Then he crumpled at Cas’ feet.  
    Castiel was enclosed in light, crying out involuntarily as his Grace separated from his body - through his chest - in a painful _wrench._ He barely had time to whisper Dean’s name weakly before collapsing in a heap beside him.

  
  
    Castiel couldn’t move. Wouldn’t have moved even if he was capable.  
    “ _Dammit, Cas, what did you do?! You’re so bloody stupid Castiel!”_  
    He came back to consciousness slowly, Dean’s hands running frantically over his body, searching for injuries. He blinked his eyes open and looked up blearily, directly into Dean’s frantic eyes.  
     _His green eyes_.  
    He smiled up at the hunter. “ _I saved you_.” he whispered. Then he promptly passed out again.

    When Castiel next became aware, he was being carried in strong arms, sheltered against chill air by soothing warmth. He curled closer into a solid chest, and concentrated on the steady heartbeat against his ear. He listened vaguely to Dean shouting for Sam, and wondered idly what the younger Winchester would think, his brother suddenly appearing home without warning or explanation. He smiled, and drifted.

    The final time he woke he was curled on his side in a bed, his face smooshed awkwardly into a balled up sheet. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, and a persistent pressure in his lower abdomen. His mouth tasted terrible, and he tentatively poked around the inside with his tongue, noting the dryness and a strange furriness on his teeth. His eyes felt gritty, and he blinked, testing them out. They stung horribly, and Cas closed them again, wincing. His head throbbed, the persistent pain seeming to originate from behind his left eye. His senses were heightened, and he could hear someone breathing across the room. He could smell… what was that…? Pie? He inhaled deeply, and his stomach grumbled, Castiel finally recognizing all the strange sensations for what they were. Together they could only mean one thing. His plan had worked. He was human. And that meant… He moved cautiously, gingerly testing sore muscles, and slowly rolling onto his back. The sheet followed, stuck to his cheek with dried up saliva.

    The mattress dipped and his eyes flew open. There, balancing precariously on the edge, was the most beautiful thing Castiel had seen in his entire, long, _lonely_ existence.  
    "Hi Cas.” Dean grinned, filling Castiel’s life with light again.  
    He shifted in the bed, swatting at the sheet and scooting up so he lay half propped against the headboard, and half slumped on his side. His body felt abused, but Castiel had never felt more alive. He licked his dry lips, wincing when his tongue found a cut in the left corner.  
    “Hi Dean.”  
    “ _Cas_.”  
    “I’m hungry,” he blurted, surprised. “And I have to urinate.” he added, shocking a laugh out of Dean.  
    “Take a leak Cas. You need to take a leak.”  
    Cas blinked, “Is that not what I said?” he asked, confused.  
    “Yeah well, if you’re hell-bent on doing this human thing for more than a few weeks, which apparently you – _literally_ – are, you might as well start sounding like one.”  
    Castiel tried it out, rolling the words around on his tongue, “Take, a leak…” he said hesitantly.  
    Dean grinned, “Yeah well, we’ll work on it.”  
    “Dean?” Cas looked up at the former King of the Crossroads. “I need to take a leak.” he said.  
    Dean laughed, “That’s it, now you’re gettin’ it.”  
    “No Dean. Really. _Now_.”  
    “Oh. Right.”  
    “Where are the lavatories here? I was here so briefly the last time I was human, and I never had occasion to visit them.” Cas canted his head to the side. “I could also use a shower.” Scrunching up his nose adorably, he sniffed at his forearm. “Apparently that rather awful smell is coming from me.”  
    Dean laughed, watching Castiel slowly acclimate to being human again. His tongue kept flicking out, worrying at the small nick on his lip. Dean couldn’t help but watch it, the small darting movements sending shivers through him.  
    He shook his head to clear it. “There’s a bathroom through that door,” he told Cas, pointing. “The towels and other crap are in the cupboard. Oh and Cas?” he added, as Castiel climbed gingerly off the bed and headed towards the bathroom. “When you get back, you’re gonna tell me what the bloody hell you were thinking bargaining away your Grace like that.”  
    Castiel turned, gazing into his lovers eyes. "I did it for you, Dean. I do _everything_ for you."

    The next few days were a blur. Sam followed Dean around everywhere, never letting him out of his sight. He seemed to think that if he did, his brother would turn into a Demon again and vanish. No matter how many times Dean swore he was fine, and that he wasn't about to go dark-side, he wouldn’t be swayed; and even when they were in the same room, the younger Winchester watched the older like a hawk. Cas understood completely, he had watched Sam fall apart after his brother’s 'death' and subsequent disappearance, but it drove Dean nuts. He finally snapped one morning, after finding out that Sam had sat watch over him while he slept, and told his brother that if he didn’t stop acting like a creep stalker, he’d take photos of him in the shower and email them to the entire hunter network. After that Sam backed off. Slightly. He still worried, but he finally gave Dean some space, only watching him out of the corner of his eye when he thought Dean wasn’t looking.  
    They had explained the whole situation to Sam the morning after Cas woke, Dean having refused to leave Cas’ side until he did, and leaving Sam to fume and wonder what the _bloody hell_ had happened, and why Dean was suddenly home and supposedly fine. Sam had looked at Cas in disbelief and awe, cornering him in the kitchen later where he quietly thanked him and gave him an awkward hug.

    Castiel was still adjusting to being human, the persistent hunger and need to urinate a constant reminder of what he had given up. There was no chance of acquiring another's Grace this time, that was part of the deal and also the first thing Dean had suggested, shouting at him that he was a dick and throwing a beer at him before storming off to his room to sulk. Cas would not have allowed it anyway, he would not destroy another one of his siblings so that he could live. He would rather die. So for better or worse, Castiel was human. And staying that way until his six months were up.  
    So Cas kept his distance. He didn’t want to pressure Dean, and he understood why the hunter was pissed with him for what he had done. He knew Dean was still dealing with the things he had done as a Demon, and his heart broke every time he saw Dean lost in thought, guilt, anger and self-loathing twisting his beautiful face.  
    This went on for a week. Dean alternated between beating himself up, sulking in his room, and shouting at Castiel whenever he was within his eye line. Sam walked around on eggshells, doing frequent beer and pie runs, trying to keep his brother happy, and beating a hasty retreat whenever Dean started yelling at Cas again.

     

    Castiel had finally had enough. He stormed into Dean’s bedroom, shoving open the door and stalking over to the bed where Dean lay with his arms over his face.  
    “You ungrateful ass-butt.” he stated, folding his arms against his chest.  
    Dean parted his arms slightly and looked up at Castiel through the gap, mouth quirking in an involuntary smile. “Did you just call me an ass-butt?”  
    “Yes. You are very much acting like one.” Cas stepped closer, looming over the hunter, and jabbed his finger at him. “I have had enough.” He said, shaking his finger to emphasize every word. “I have taken your abuse without complaint, I have given you your space, I have even tried to be understanding, but now I am done.” He dropped his arms down beside his body and clenched his fists, shaking with fury.  
    “You are home because of me. You are saved, _because of me_! Because of what I did for you. And you are acting like a spoiled child.” Castiel’s voice rose steadily until he was shouting. “ _I am human_! And I only have six months before I am ripped apart by hell-hounds and dragged down into the pit for eternity! And you never even said thank you!” he roared. “Can you even comprehend in your tiny, selfish human mind, what that will do to me?! I am – _I was_ – an Angel, Dean! They have special, very distinctive types of torture for my kind! It is precisely detailed and exacted, and very, very explicit! You think you had it bad Dean Winchester?! You think your time in hell will even _scratch the surface_ of what they will do to me?! They will tear me apart, piece by piece, put me back together, and do it all again for fun! Over, and over, until I am a mere fragment of my former self!”  
    “So why’d you do it then?!” Dean shouted back, flying up off the bed and shoving Castiel in the chest with both hands. “I never asked you to!”  
    “You did not need to! I did it because I love you, you ignorant, stubborn, _stupid_ man!’ Castiel thundered. “And I do not want to live, not one single instant, in a world that does not have you in it! So stop being an ass-butt and get over yourself!”  
    Castiel stood red faced, hands on his hips and breathing heavily; trembling with righteous anger. He looked every bit the avenging Angel he had been, ready and willing to smite Dean for all his transgressions against him.  
    Dean couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing.  
    “What!?” Castiel demanded.  
    “You… you…” Dean spluttered, hiccuping and swiping at his eyes.  
    “ _I what?!_ ”  
    “You’re kinda hot when you’re angry.”  
    “Dean!” Castiel barked.  
    “What?” Dean said innocently, “You are. My big, bad, vengeful Angel. And yeah. I'm fully aware of how lame I just sounded.”  
    Castiel deflated immediately, his arms again dropping to his sides in defeat. “Not an Angel. Not anymore. Nor ever again.” he said softly.  
    Dean reached out, cupping Cas’ cheek and gently raising his chin so he could gaze into blue eyes. “Maybe not _an_ Angel. But you’re definitely _my_ Angel.”  
    Castiel slumped, shying away, a hand creeping up to worry at his growing beard.  
    Dean studied him, noting the stress lines on his forehead, the finer worry lines that had sprung up beside his eyes. He had visible aged over the past week. After getting so used to Cas always looking the same, the change was noticeable; and worrying. “Why Cas?" he questioned gently. "Why did you do it? There had to be another way.”  
    “There was _no_ other way. Sam and I searched. We exhausted all possibilities. Sam was a mess, and I…” he bowed his head, staring at Dean’s well-worn boots. “I couldn’t lose you Dean. Not again.”  
    “Oh Cas.”  
    “What are we going to do?” Castiel looked up, searching Dean’s eyes for answers.  
    “I dunno man, you’ve kinda dumped us pretty far into the crap this time.” He smiled gently, taking the sting out of his words and reached for Castiel’s hand, lacing strong fingers into slender ones. "We'll work it out man. We always do."  
    Cas smiled, "I suppose."  
    “I _know_. Look, Cas. I need to tell ya, I am down with this whole us thing, I can do that. But if you ever – I mean _ever_ – do anything that stupid again? Man I _will_ end you. You got me?”  
    Castiel nodded, losing himself in Dean’s gaze.  
    “C'mere then.”  
  
    Dean smiled and grabbed the belt-loops on Castiel’s trench coat, walking backwards slowly toward the bed pulling Cas along with him. They tumbled to the mattress, Castiel landing awkwardly, half sprawled across the hunter’s chest with his legs sticking out over the edge of the bed. Dean chuckled, and scooted backwards so that Cas could climb on, then pulled him into his arms. Cas melted into his lover, sighing.  
    “Do you realize we have never kissed while we are both human?” Cas asked, running his finger across Dean’s collarbone. “ _You_ were human of course. But, I was an Angel. And then you were a Demon, and I was... still an Angel... Well, I guess you _could_ include that first time when you attacked me and threw me out, but aside from that-” he babbled nervously.  
    “Tell me what you want Cas.”  
    “Kiss me Dean Winchester. _Now_. Make me forget that in 6 months’ time I will be in Hell. Make me forget about the Mark, and my bargained Grace and…” he said softly, “Most of all, make me forget I ever lost you.” He smiled, "And yes. I am fully aware of how lame I just sounded."  
    Dean captured Castiel’s lips, taking ownership of his Angel, Cas gasping into his mouth. He inhaled the breath, then flipped over on the bed. His arm cradling Cas, lips still joined, he settled him onto his back, Cas’ trench coat caught beneath them. Cas gazed up at him, staring deep into green eyes, and reached up to palm the hunter’s cheek adoringly. Dean pulled back, Cas instinctively following, but Dean was too fast. Grinning cheekily, he suddenly grabbed hold of Castiel’s wrists and pinned them to the pillows above them, securing them in a strong hand.  
    Cas was helpless, heart racing. Dean nuzzled into his neck, mouthing the soft skin at the base, nipping at his collarbone, then soothing it with his lips and tongue.  
    “Dammit. I missed you,” he growled against the hollow of Cas' throat and Cas sighed in agreement, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean ghosted his lips upwards, lingering at his ear, flicking his tongue inside, smiling at Cas’ answering whimper. Kissing his way across his cheekbone, he pecked the tip of his nose playfully. Cas smiled, scrunching up his nose adorably. Dean ducked his head, and Cas’ lips parted, tongues slicking together in slippery heat. He ran his hand down Cas’ side, across his stomach, and tugging Cas’ shirt free, slid his fingers underneath. Cas’ moaned, his hips jutting upwards instinctively.  
    Dean’s breath caught, and he paused, gazing into Castiel's blue eyes, mirroring his desire. He held Cas' gaze as he experimentally rocked his hips, canting into him. Cas moaned, eyelids fluttering, and Dean’s breathing hitched; their eyes glued together, hearts hammering; each searching the other, hesitating, both realizing they stood balanced on a precipice that once breached, could never be returned from. They stared at each other, green on blue, panting, seeking out any doubts that could pull them back from the brink they teetered on. Each aware that if they jumped, nothing would ever be the same.  
    Dean let of go of Cas’ wrists, framing his face with one hand, thumb brushing Cas’ swollen lower lip.  
    “Cas?” he asked uncertainly.  
    Castiel lowered his arms, grazing Dean’s jaw with the tips of his fingers, running his palms along his throat, and playing with the sweaty curls stuck to the nape of his neck. Sliding his hands lower, Cas trailed his palms across Dean's chest, fingering his ribs one-by-one through his t-shirt; blazing a maddening trail down his stomach to his waist. Dean felt like he was on fire, everywhere Cas touched him ignited. He shifted, supporting himself with his elbows either side of Cas, thighs glued together. His stomach muscles quivered; he was shaking, unable to wrench his gaze away from hot blue eyes. Cas' fingers drifted lower, finding the hollows where his hip bones disappeared into his jeans, dipping underneath the material. He undid the top button of Dean’s jeans, and slid down the zipper, pulling aside the material, his fingernails grazing Dean’s rapidly swelling bulge, feeling it enlarge and harden in response.  
    Dean gasped, his head falling forward into the hollow of Cas’ neck. “Jesus Cas.” he grunted, “I… are you sure about this? I mean… I don’t know if I can do this man.” He hesitated, trembling, lips against Cas' throat. “ _Dammit, I don’t wanna stop though._ ”  
    Dean panted, thighs quivering, stomach rippling as Cas’ fingers probed further. His eyes fluttered closed, heart pounding, as he focused on Cas’ fingers circling lower, dipping into the waistband of his briefs, stroking the twitching flesh beneath.  
    “Its ok Dean," Cas whispered, "open your eyes. Look at me." Dean’s lids flew open, and he lifted his head, eyes raking over Cas' face. Cas reached up and Dean leant down, their mouths crushing together, tongues thrashing hotly. Dean inhaled Castiel, and Cas sighed, his fingers continuing their hypnotic movements. He shifted and withdrew his hand fleetingly, and Dean moaned in protest, but Cas just repositioned his hands. Swiftly tugging Dean's briefs down, he seized his hips, jutting up against him, grinding into him, the material of Cas’ suit pants rasping against Dean’s soft flesh.  
    “ _Cas, wait. Crap. I’m gonna… I don’t know if I can stop._ ”  
    Cas’ answer was a fierce swivel of his hips and a shudder, grasping at Dean’s hips and humping faster, fingers kneading Dean’s ass as he panted, frantically rutting against him.  
    “Jesus… God… _Cas_!” Dean gasped and came in long hot spurts, spilling himself all over Cas' shirt.

     
"We should fight more often." Castiel - naked from the waist up, his damp shirt, jacket, and trench coat discarded onto the floor - lay on his side, cheek pillowed on his arm. He trailed his fingers across Dean’s stomach thoughtfully. “That was…”  
    “Intense.” Dean murmured, stomach muscles quivering. He lay on his back, one leg bent and poking out sideways, the other booted foot resting on the floor. There was a tiny hand towel thrown hastily over his bare hips, jeans riding low, shirt rucked up around his chest. He had one arm flung over his eyes, sweat slicking his skin and pooling in his belly button.  
    “Intense, yes…” Cas kissed Dean’s nose, smiling down at him. “Also… Different.” he said surprising a laugh out of Dean.  
    Dean snorted, “You can say that again.”  
    Cas lay his head on Dean’s chest, Dean slipping his hand into Cas’ hair, fingers dancing hypnotically through the messy strands. “No Dean, I mean… I am _human_ now. I have never _felt_ anything that amazing in my long life.” he mused wonderingly. “I mean, I have had – sex – once before. And it felt… good… But it was _nothing_ compared to that!”  
    “Are you trying to say I’m good in the sack, Cas?” Dean’s chest rumbled as he laughed.  
    Castiel pouted, “Dean, I am trying to tell you how I _feel_.”  
    “Don’t ruin it Cas. That wasn’t sex anyway, more like _extreme_ foreplay.”  
    “Dean. I am human now. I knew that I loved you while I was an Angel, but it is very different now. I have told you before, Angels feel things differently than humans.” he struggled to explain, yawning. “Human feelings are more… powerful, passionate… Raw.”  
    “Spit it out Cas,” Dean mumbled, eyes closed.  
    “I love you,” Cas murmured, already half asleep. “Now, more than ever before.”  
    Dean pulled his Angel close, twitching the blanket up to cover the both of them. Cas curled against his side, drifting.  
    “I love you too, Castiel.” he answered him, finally admitting it out loud.  
    Cas mmm’ed and sighed. A soft snore escaping his lips.  
    “Oh and Cas?” Dean whispered, nuzzling Castiel’s ear as he drifted off to sleep, “Thanks.”

 


	8. Lifeline

_This is getting ridiculous,_ Sam thought. Dean had sulked around the bunker for days after Cas made the deal to bring him home; and he wouldn’t talk to Cas, or even look at him, except to shout at him. Sam had to keep leaving the room every time his brother got riled up about something and started yelling at the poor ex-Angel again. Then something changed, and it had gotten a _little_ better.  
    But Dean was obviously still struggling with his feelings for Cas, while also trying to deal with the blame he put on himself over what the ex-Angel had given up for him; and though Cas was dealing with his imminent trip down below with his usual patience and impassivity, you could see in his newly human face the frustration he felt toward Dean’s behavior. It made the tension in the bunker so thick you could cut it with Ruby’s knife. Sam could still barely stand to be in the same room as them, and usually hastily made himself scarce wherever possible.  
    Whenever Dean and Cas were in the main part of the bunker at the same time – when Dean wasn’t throwing himself into research that was – there was mostly an uncomfortable sense of unease that hung on the air around them like a blanket, making everything awkward and weird. The easy sense of camaraderie Sam was used to had disappeared, and he found he missed it. Even his interactions with either man were stunted and difficult, their conversations strained, making him long for easier times, like the Apocalypse, for example. And still sometimes they would fight, Dean shouting and throwing things at Cas in frustration of Castiel’s stubborn unwillingness to help himself, all the while maintaining that there was nothing _to be_ done, and that Dean should just forget about looking and accept it. Which – predictably – drove Dean nuts, seeing as he wasn’t exactly the poster-boy for quietly letting things run their course.  
    Sam knew his brother wasn’t angry at Cas, not really. He was actually kinda surprised Cas was so blind when it’s came to his brother. Cas knew Dean better than anybody. In the most profound way, they were soul-mates, and it was inconceivable to Sam that Cas was so clueless about this. But then again, he was only newly human, and he’d never been the most on-the-ball when it came to human behavior; always taking things too literally and sometimes even outright missing the point completely. In fact, Sam couldn’t quite work out how the hell the two of them had sorted their crap enough to even get this far. His brother wasn’t the most patient of men, in fact he could be a downright ass, and Cas wasn’t exactly a pushover either. They were both as stubborn as each other, and Sam _really_ didn’t want to be around if they came to blows this time. The stupid bastards would probably beat each other to a pulp again before admitting either one of them was in the wrong. And with Dean still sporting the Mark of Cain, it could get bloody. And no one wanted that. The last thing his brother needed right now was to be responsible for seriously hurting or even killing Cas himself. Still, the Mark was a worry for another day, and Sam concentrated on the problem at hand, unable to believe that Cas couldn’t see what he could. It was so _obvious_. Dean was terrified. Sam could see it in his actions and the way his eyes followed Cas everywhere. But being Dean he wouldn’t admit it, so he resorted back to what he knew, and blamed himself, drank too much booze, and shouted. A lot.  
    Sam had finally had it. The idiots had less than six months together and they were wasting it acting like children. This had to stop. Now. He shook his head in disbelief. He was going to have to play matchmaker, and he wasn’t freakin’ impressed.

    “Cas! Dean! Get your asses out here, we need to talk!”  
    Dean wandered in from the kitchen where he was finishing off a sandwich. “What is it Sammy?’ he mumbled around a mouthful of bread and melted cheese.  
    “What can I do for you Sam?” Cas, clutching a huge dusty book, strolled into the room from the opposite direction near the library, his ever present trench coat billowing behind him. Sam wondered idly that he hadn’t ditched it after becoming human, but he guessed that everything was so new for the former Angel right now, that the sense of sameness the outfit offered must be comforting.  
    Sam pointed at the huge table in the middle of the room. “Sit,” he ordered. “Both of you.”  
    The two men glanced at each other in surprise, then noting Sam’s determined expression sat silently; Cas dropping the book onto the sideboard on his way past, then seating himself calmly and giving his full attention to the younger Winchester, his head tilted to one side. Sam briefly considered how disconcerting it was to have Cas gaze at him with his undivided attention like that, and wondered fleetingly how his brother handled it day in and day out. Dean threw himself into the chair next to Cas, glaring at his brother moodily and noisily finished his mouthful, thumping his legs up onto the tabletop and crossing his ankles.  
    After making sure he had Dean’s full attention – he obviously already had Cas’ – Sam hesitated, stalking around the room restlessly for a moment, sorting out his thoughts. Cas and Dean exchanged bemused looks, then turned to watch the huge man as he paced circles around the table and the two seated men.  
    Coming to an eventual halt behind Cas, he announced bluntly, “You can both start by not being such dicks.” He looked at Dean and Cas in turn, Cas craning his neck around awkwardly to look up at him. “You two have finally gotten your crap sorted and realized that you want to be together, now you’ve got less than 6 months, and you’re wasting time by being pissy at each other.” He frowned, rounding the table, and stopping directly across from his brother. He leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on the polished wood and catching his brother’s gaze. “Dean. Cas traded his Grace for you man. It was the most nauseatingly beautiful thing I’ve ever heard of. Now he’s only got a little time left before he checks out and goes down south.” He slapped the tabletop causing Dean to start, “ _Don’t waste it being a douche-bag._ ” He turned his glare on Castiel and jabbed a finger at him. “And you Cas. You know Dean’s gonna search for a way out of this for you. _You know it man_. It’s what he does. _So let him_. Otherwise he’s gonna go nuts and drive us all crazy. Well, crazy- _er_.” he amended. He pushed off the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now sort your crap out or I’ll go all Dr. Phil on your asses and commit you both into therapy. _In different States_.“  
    He locked gazes separately with the two men for a moment each, then shrugged, pointing between one then the other as he turned to leave the bunker. “Sort it out. Now. ‘Cause I’m done.” He bounded up the stairs two at a time, looking back briefly at the landing; then left, slamming the outer door jarringly on his way out.

    Cas sat frozen, gaze drawn to the older Winchester as if there was nowhere else in the universe to look. Dean’s eyes slid over to Cas, then immediately danced away. He stood, stalking across the room and pouring himself _yet another_ drink. Cas watched with concern as Dean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _Goddamned interfering Sasquatches’_ , under his breath and took a large gulp of whisky, flinching as the liquor burned his throat on its way down. He turned and leaned one hip against the sideboard. They stared at each other, both starting to speak at the same time.  
    “So-”  
    “Dean. I-“  
    They stopped, Dean rolling his eyes and huffing out a breath. “Look, Cas. I’m not… I don’t wanna do this man. I won’t.“ he shrugged, slamming down the last of his drink and – putting down the glass – moved across the room, as far away from Castiel as he could get and still be in the same general area as him.  
    Cas tracked his actions, noting the edgy movements as Dean picked up the book Cas discarded earlier and turning it over in his hands, running his fingers over the spine only to abandon it immediately for something else. “Dean we need to talk about this. The way you’re feeling? You can’t bottle it up. You’ve tried that before. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now. It’s not healthy and I’m… worried about you. And Sam’s right. We do only have a small amount of time before I-I have to go. So we shouldn’t…waste…it.”  
   “When have I ever done the healthy thing Cas? The easy thing? I don’t even know how to anymore.”  
    “Then let me help you! I need to know you’re going to be ok when I leave.” Cas stood, starting toward Dean, only to pull up abruptly when Dean spun on him furiously.  
   “So don’t leave!” he shouted, stalking across the room to stand face to face with Cas, face flushed, fists clenched down by his sides. “Let me find a way to get you out of this goddamned deal!”  
    “I can’t do that.” Cas murmured, gaze softening. “You know that Dean. You need to trust that I know what I’m doing. Why can’t you just accept it and let us enjoy the time we do have left?” he pleaded, hands moving to grasp at Dean’s jacket. “I don’t want to go to hell, knowing that I’ve left you here treading water, barely able to stay afloat.”  
    Dean slapped his hands away, taking a step back and glaring at the ex-Angel. “Dammit Cas _I am_ treading water! I feel like I’m drowning. And every time I catch my damn breath, another freakin’ wave comes along and wipes me out!” He exhaled forcefully and stilled, the fight abruptly draining out of him. Grasping Cas’ shoulder, his face quivered with raw emotion, “And I’m tired. I’m _so goddamned tired_ Cas. I’m sick of always having to fight for every scrap of good in this godforsaken world. Because when I finally do think I’ve found something – _someone_ – to hold on to… to help hold my head above water… that gets ripped away from me too. _You’re_ getting ripped away from me. And I feel like I’ve been gut-shot.” He let go of Cas’ coat, studying his fingers like they were an alien thing. “I can’t go _through that_ again,” he whispered, “I can’t afford to let my guard down… To be _happy_. Not for 6 crappy months. I won’t.” He gazed despairingly into pained blue eyes, “ _Not even for you Cas_. Because I can’t just – _delude myself_ – for that time, into believing that you’re always gonna be here, when _I know_ you’re not! You’re gonna leave me again, and that’s a fact. _And it’s tearing me apart_. I’m finding it hard to trust this – you – any of it. It feels like it’s all been a damn lie. And you won’t let me help! I can’t just do nothin’ Cas. It’s not in me to let crap like this go.” He moved away across the room, raking his fingers through his hair then running them down his face, grimacing. “So _forgive me_ if I’m just a little freakin’ standoffish.”

    Castiel reared back as if he’d been slapped, his eyes closing at Dean’s words. “You don’t – _trust_ – me? Dean I… I never meant, to hurt you. I just wanted… I _needed_ to get you back. To make you _safe_. I would have done… anything. I never thought…” he hung his head to hide the tears that sprang to his eyes. “I never dreamed you would hate me for it.” he whispered. He teetered in place for a moment, then his face crumpled and he slumped to the floor, bowed under the weight of his grief; the very picture of a broken man with nothing left to live for. Arms clutching his middle, he rocked forward on his heels. “I’ll… I’ll leave then.” he whispered. “Just give me a moment and I’ll-“  
    Dean flew across the room and dropped to his knees in front of the other man. He cupped his face with both hands, forcing Cas’ broken gaze up to meet his own. “Dammit Cas I don’t hate you,” he murmured, his own eyes tearing. “Not that.”  
    Cas swallowed, his shoulders sagging. “Then what?”  
    “Don’t you get why I can’t – _I won’t_ – accept this? I _need_ you. I can’t do this without you. You gotta let me help.” He searched Cas’ face. “Don’t you know how I feel Cas?” he questioned gently.  
    “No!” Cas cried. “I don’t know! I… You storm around here, yelling and throwing things at me and you expect me to just… _know_? I can’t! This is all new to me Dean. Unfamiliar. Human emotions are… Confusing. And yours even more so than most. You’re so… bipolar. It’s exhausting trying to keep up.” He smiled briefly, unsteadily, tears pooling in his blue eyes as he searched Dean’s green ones. “ _You have to tell me how you feel_. I… I used to be able to tell, used to be able to find you anywhere, to isolate and hone in on you _above every other soul_ … I could sense your needs – your desires – without having to ask. You never had to pray Dean, not truly, because I knew when you needed me. I knew what your heart desired. And the profound guilt you carry like a shield always outweighed everything else. But I can’t… I can’t _feel_ _you_ anymore. And I don’t know… I know how you feel about Sam, that’s obvious, but I… You _need_ to talk to me. _Tell_ , _me_. I-“  
    “Jesus, Cas.” Dean said wonderingly, searching glistening blue eyes, “I’m really assing this up aren’t I? I… I’m so sorry man.” He shook his head, “God I’m such a dick,” he muttered. “It’s just that… I’ve _been_ to hell Cas. And not for nothing, but it ain’t just a name. There’s a reason it’s called that. Imagine the absolute worst thing ever, and then multiply it by a thousand. A thousand-thousands. And that’s just the start. I don’t wanna… _I can’t_ think about you there.”  
    Cas just looked up at him, shattered heart laid bare for the world to see. He blinked, and few tears escaped, tracking their way unheeded down the Angel’s cheek.  
    Dean wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb. “Christ,” he murmured.  
    “Dean I-” Cas croaked, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t understand. You-you’re bouncing back and forth so much…I…it’s…confusing. I don’t know how to process this. What do you want from me? I really need you to tell me how you feel. I can’t-“  
    “This. Cas.” Dean cut him off, reaching for him desperately and pulling him against him. He grabbed his fingers and trapped it between them, pressing Cas’ palm hard against his ribcage. Cas could feel Dean’s heart racing under him. “This is how I feel, how I’ve _always_ felt.” He held Cas hand still, fingers bruising Cas’ as he clutched him hard against his chest as if trying to draw him in, to fuse them together so that they’d never have to be apart. “Cas, you’re my rock ok? My constant in a world shot to hell.” He gazed into Cas’ eyes, cupping his cheek gently with his other hand, “ _Believe_ this. Hold onto _this._ Even if you can’t _hear_ me, or whatever… remember this. You’re the glue that keeps me from falling apart Castiel. Sammy’s my soul. But you… You’re my lifeline. You’re my _heart_. That’s why I can’t lose you. Because if I _do_ , if you leave me… there won’t be any _me_ left.”  
    “Dean,” Cas whispered, then Dean was kissing him, hot and desperate. Cas flinched as Dean bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t pull away, simply whimpering and lapping at the saltiness, the metallic flavour mingling to become part of what made them, them. Dean moaned filthily and sucked at the bite, swearing unintelligibly into Cas mouth. Cas panted and Dean breathed him in, holding for a moment as he stared into Cas’ eyes; then, swearing, grabbed Cas by the hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his throat so he could defile it with teeth and tongue. Cas whined obscenely and Dean lost it, shoving Cas roughly onto his back on the bunker floor. He wrenched his shirt open, buttons popping, and trapped Cas under him as he ravaged his chest, claiming him with bites and sucking bruises, trailing stubble burn along his collarbone and up his throat to imprison his lips. Cas bucked his hips and Dean grunted, his own grinding down in response, crushing Cas’ ass cruelly into the floor.  
    “Dean.” Cas gasped into his mouth. “I think-“  
    Dean growled hungrily. “Shut up Cas. Don’t think. Just feel.”  
    “But-“

    “ _Jesus!_ ”  
    The lust-fuelled fog around Dean’s brain lifted abruptly, and he wrenched his mouth from Cas’, looking up to find his brother gaping down at them from the stairwell, his mouth hanging open dumbly.  
    “Christ Sam,” he ground out, breathing heavily. “Couldn’t you give us some warning?”  
    “You’re in the freakin’ main room!” Sam exclaimed, scrunching his eyes shut and knuckling them desperately. “Crap, crap, crap. I am _never_ getting over this. I’m the one that’s gonna need therapy.” he muttered.  
    Dean looked at Cas still trapped beneath him, the ex-Angel’s eyes dancing with laughter. “You heard him come in didn’t you?” he asked and Cas nodded silently, grinning, “And you didn’t think to say something?”  
    “I tried,” he chuckled, smirking, “you told me not to think.”  
    “You son-of-a-bitch.”  
    Cas laughed out loud. Cupping Dean’s face and pulling him down for a kiss, he smiled into his mouth and said, “You were busy.”  
   “Bastard.”  
    Cas chuckled huskily, the sound and vibration of his body doing interesting things to his stomach and hips and making Dean’s insides thrill.

    “Will you two just get up?” Sam called down to them, eyes still squeezed shut. “Go somewhere else, whatever, just… _God_. Someone burn my eyes out,” he muttered. “C’mon guys. I’ve got crap to do. Actually…” he said hesitantly, “If you two can manage to stop pawing at each other for a second, we’ve _all_ got work to do. I found us a case.”

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic was inspired by 2 fan-made pics. And insomnia. And cigarettes. Lots of cigarettes. I forgot the question.
> 
> The first pic is by kasienka-nikki.livejournal.com, where Dean is seen agonizing over something while Cas looks on worriedly.  
> http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/251954140  
> and  
> The second pic by irensupernatural.deviantart.com, where Cas seems shocked (but not unhappy!) that Dean is kissing him.  
> http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/421632714
> 
> Talented little shits ;D
> 
> Anyway, I’ve tried to keep as true to the characters as I can, well except for one tiny detail ;) -*thank you captain obvious
> 
> So apparently I need more sleep. And less cigarettes. Or vice versa. Whatever.
> 
> Be gentle, this is my first… ;) And I'm lonely.
> 
> Enjoy,  
> Brea x
> 
> P.S. Apparently I'm supposed to tell you that I don't own Supernatural or any of it's characters. But who am I kidding. I totally do. I'm totally Eric Kriptke in a dress. With salt-encrusted combat boots.


End file.
